


A Storm over Xela

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, IN SPACE!, M/M, Outer Space, Space Opera, Space Pirates, Spaceships, all have POVS, three pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson, heir to the throne, just wants three days before he enters into negotiations for the marriage that will bring stability to the galaxy. His royal cousins, Jasper Sitwell and Maria Hill, just want nothing to go wrong with the hare-brained plan of Phil's to switch places. Melinda May, Initiate Prime, just wants to ensure that her people can live in peace. Steve Rogers, Captain of the Guard, just wants no one to get hurt under his watch. And Clint Barton, spy and security expert, just wants to be wrong about his suspicions.  </p><p>None of them are going to get what they want ... but they might get what they need.</p><p>An unabashed romance novel set in outer space with spaceships, pirates, and lots of squeezing in tiny spaces together. All the pairings get their own POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts), [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/gifts), [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).



> Happy birthday to three of my favorite C/C writers! Raiining, Adamantsteve, and Ralkana.
> 
> A spaceship C/C AU with an additional helping of Steve/Maria and Jasper/Melinda. :)))

Phil Coulson, Crown Prince and Heir of the Seven Halo Imperium, paused in front of the mirror, straightening his tie and flicking an invisible speck of dirt from the lapel of his jacket.

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this,” his cousin Maria said, sitting back in her chair, her long legs crossed, the crystalline dress falling open up to mid-thigh. Her brown hair was pulled back in a slick chignon, just two curls escaping to artfully drape on her shoulders. “You should be studying up on the Eldar Legion Domain, learning about the cultural mores. Just the tea ceremony alone has a script that runs almost four hours.”

“I have the entirety of the schedule on my pod, along with all the detailed files and appendixes sent by the cultural minister.” Phil attached his link, the data scroll running down the side of his retro black frames. “A week of REM lessons and I won’t embarrass the family, I promise. Besides, they want this as much as we do.”

“There’s trade data and tensions along the Spartax border …” Maria reminded him. As if Phil could forget; war loomed, too many small conflagrations popping up that enflamed old hatreds.

“It’s just a few days, Maria,” Phil sighed. She meant well, but his cousin had always worried enough for the both of them. “Will you begrudge me that?”

“Of course not.”  She stood and walked over behind him, straightening his already straight tie. “You always do the right thing, Phil. You know me, seeing all the potential pitfalls. You should go out and enjoy yourself. I hear the restaurant on this boat has a tasting menu that rivals the royal chefs. There’s dancing on the ledo deck after the viewing of the Bodean Nebula.”

“And I’m stuck here in this tiny cabin,” Jasper complained, slouching over to sink into the chair Maria had vacated. “While you go out and party in my name.”

“Oh, boo hoo.” Maria laughed at his poor me face. “The Imperial Suite has six rooms, a personal insta-chef, a fully stocked bar, and a media wall loaded with vids and books. All four season of that series you like, the one with the swords and armor.”

“ _Gastrique_ gave this chef a five, Phil. Five stars! You know how rare that is? And I’m going to be stuck eating noodles from the micro,” Jasper pouted, kicking his bare feet up on the ottoman.

“Which is why I asked for a special in-room service for the Royal envoy since he can’t leave the room because of all the work he has to do. Chef Zagrib was flattered to be asked.” Phil tossed Jasper his comb. “You might want to clean up first.”

Jasper grinned, the family resemblance clearer when he did. Even though he got his golden skin color from his father, a Maximilano, Jasper looked enough like Coulson that many people couldn’t tell the difference. A quick tan, a bit of a slouch, and Phil could escape a boring meeting or a public appearance. They’d done it often when they were younger, less as they grew older. Talking Jasper into this last fling had taken some fancy arguing on Phil’s part. Yes, they were getting too old for this sort of thing, pretending to be each other, but an absolutely terrified kernel deep inside of Phil believed this was his final chance before he signed his life away to family duty. Oh, he was going through with the marriage; there was no doubt that in less than a month, Melinda May, Initiate Prime and Leader Elect, would be his wife.

He had the three days it would take for the Stellar Superior Cruiser, the brand new flagship of the Crowne line, to arrive at their destination. Once he set foot on the sacred soil of the temple, Phil’s days would be filled with endless meeting and planning sessions, negotiations and rituals in preparation for the joining. Three days that Phil intended to use to live as normal a life as possible. Eat, drink, dance and be merry in the name of one Jasper Sitwell, distant cousin and attache to the royal envoy. Only the members of the King’s guard who traveled with them knew that Phil was on board. Not the captain nor the cruise line. Three days. Phil was going to make the most of it regardless of the gimlet stare of Steve Rogers, head of the guard, and Maria’s disapproving sniff.

“Shall we? I believe the Captain’s table awaits.” He knew better and waited for Steve to take the lead, Maria behind. Even cousins needed security; it would look odd to not have any.

“Remember. Stay in sight at all times. All times. Even during the dancing. Quartermaine and Simpson are going to be in plain clothes in the crowd. Don’t look at them.” Steve issued orders with ease; Phil liked the man, and would even count him a friend. Not that Phil had that many friends outside the family; being guarded 24/7 left little room to meet new people. Still Steve was a good man who took his job seriously. “If I say we leave, no arguments.” Steve’s last remark was aimed at Maria. The two of them often butted heads, Maria sure she could handle herself and Steve with an overdeveloped sense of right.

She merely raised her chin and walked past the blonde-haired man. Phil shrugged and intentionally didn’t notice the way Steve watched Maria’s hips sway. Too caught up in the never-ending quest to be the perfect royal, Maria seemed oblivious.

“Good evening!” The captain, a Kandarin with yellow skin, greeted them at the doorway to the private dining room. A trade off, of course. Phil had wanted to eat in the main salon, but this was the compromise. “Welcome, welcome. Ah, you must be Lady Hill. So lovely to meet you.” He kissed Maria’s hand, his bow effusive and far too deep for her status. “And Sirrah Sitwell. Please, please, come in and meet the rest of the table.”

The first people he introduced were a couple, two Andarians, four chins each which spoke of their wealth and prosperity. They fairly dripped with diamonds and blue starwaters, their small fingers laden with two rings each. Very important people, it seemed. “Ker Volga and Kera Messa from Andari Beta.”

Phil gave them the sketchy bow befitting their station. Both women flushed green under their dark blue skin.

“Oh, ‘tis an honor, you see, to meet,” Volga started.

“Such a royal guest at the table,” Messa finished.

“And this is Fra Gama, Bishop of D’latan.” Severe and strained, the thin man’s mouth turned down at the edges, his pleasure clear. His order, Phil knew, maintained absolute neutrality … unless someone donated enough money and then they looked the other way. Maria’s smile of greeting was frozen and hard; she particularly disliked the order’s teaching about heredity and women’s roles in governance.

“Blessing upon you,” the man intoned before abruptly turning away. Rogers carefully moved from his spot just behind them to where he had a better view of the priest’s hands.

“Ah, such a delight to meet a fellow gourmand!” The man who approached next was large enough to need hover boots to move about easily. His clothing, a dinner jacket in a violent shade of green and a cravat with four layers of silk, put him as Menchite. “Sirrah Sitwell. I am a big fan of your blog. So much wonderful food you’ve experienced.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Phil replied, covering his surprise. Jasper ran a food blog? Who vetted that in the palace? Now Phil was going to have to be more careful about what he said during dinner. “And you are…”

“Randosia Parr. One of the Golan Parrs. Gourmet food emporiums on twenty nine worlds.” Maybe somewhere in his forties, Parr beamed behind his ginger mustache and full beard, scalp almost completely smooth.

“And I believe your family owns four restaurants that have received the coveted five stars.” Maria smoothly picked up the conversation. This was what she excelled at, knowing who was who and exactly how to approach them. Too many times Phil had wished Maria had been the heir; the seven nebulas knew she would make a much better ruler than he would. He’d love nothing more than to be a scholar, studying ancient history like his father had before he’d ended up on the throne. No one had expected the first two sons to die so young and so close together. 

“Indeed. I am looking forward to the meal tonight. Such high praise I hear from everyone.” Parr patted his expansive belly. “Perhaps I will steal the chef away!”

A bell chimed and people began to move towards the table, Maria taking pity on Phil and maneuvering between him and Parr, guiding the man to the foot of the table to make conversation difficult. That left Phil sitting with Maria on his right and one empty seat between himself and the Captain at the head. Across from him, the two Andarians sat, blinking at each other in the way that couples did on that planet, and Fra Gama was trapped between them and Parr.

A pair of strong hands pulled the empty seat out, and Phil got his first look at the final member of their dining party. Human, muscular, medium height, sandy blonde hair just a touch too long, hanging rakishly across his forehead. A tiny purple gem winked in his ear, and his dinner jacket was fitted perfectly to his body, hugging his wide shoulders and arms, tucking down to his smaller waist. Blue-grey eyes the color of a storm over Xela twinkled at Phil as the man sat down, unfurling his napkin and dropping  it onto the snug grey pants that covered his very muscular thigh.

An elbow in his side made Phil jerk his head to his right; Maria smiled that ‘what-are-you-doing’ smile. “I’m sorry,” she said to the man. “We didn’t get your name.”

“Clint,” he replied. “Clint Barton.”

“Ah, yes! I forgot Clint was even here. So good at disappearing, our Mr. Barton.” The Captain tapped Clint on the arm. “Perhaps you should … The first course! The feast begins!”

Conversation paused as the servers brought in small plates that held a round of toast and some creamy red paste, brown and green dots of sauces. Hardly more than a bite, Phil looked at it, pretended to appreciate it, made a pass with wrist unit to get the green light, and then popped it into his mouth. It was good, almost melting in his mouth even if there wasn’t much to it.

“A Stark 5012? That’s top of the line. I’d heard they’d gone to those at court,” Clint said, glancing at Phil’s wrist. “Nice choice.”

“Much easier than a taste tester,” Phil replied. When he was a boy, they still employed people whose job it was to take a bite of everything before he could eat. He’d watched a woman die of poisoning right at the table when he was nine. “You know your tech.”

“I have to. It’s my job. CEO and chef bottle washer of Team Delta Security and Tech.” Clint sat back as the efficient staff whisked away the empties and brought in delicate glasses with an inch of sparkling liquid that had shining crystals mixed in, floating through the froth. Phil held it up to the light, tilted the glass then drank it in one sip. He’d learned a few things from Jasper. It was like a tiny little sting in his mouth, a burst of sharp bitter mixed with fruit then it was gone.

“I’ve heard of you.” Because Phil paid attention at briefings, he knew that Team Delta was highly regarded; Maria probably knew more but Phil distinctly remembered they worked big events like concerts and entertainment venues. “The Stark Gala Presents, right? When the fans tried to rush the stage. Interesting measures you put in place.”

“Nanotech webbing. Conforms and flexes like you wouldn’t believe. Great for crowd control because no one gets hurt. It’s like being wrapped up in a big fluffy comforter.” Clint grinned.

“You know from experience?” Phil had to ask. A third plate appeared, this one with super thin slices of some kind of meat, three of them, maybe an inch square, with a sliver of blood orange and a garnish of a sauce drizzled in tiny circles. Chopsticks accompanied it, so Phil popped one in his mouth. Tang with bit of heat, the meat melted like butter on his tongue. The other two bites disappeared quickly.

“Makes people feel comfortable if I’ve tried it out myself. Those tase barriers? Muscles spasms for three days if you run into it,” Clint said.

“Endavian Beef!” Parr practically moaned with ecstacy. “Such a delicate flavor enhanced by the tart orange. Genuis!”

A small cup of what looked like a ball of pink fluff, maybe an inch in diameter. It tasted like nothing to Phil, dissolving instantly. Clint raised an eyebrow as Parr spoke again. “Tangle ice foam. What do you think Sirrah Sitwell?”

Phil blanked for a second, but he’d been at too many tables with Jasper to not have a ready answer. “Adequate. The foam was slightly grainy in texture and the tangle a touch too strong.”

“Agreed.” Parr sat his spoon down on the table. “So difficult to maintain consistency.”

“Well, I think it’s delightful,” Keri said. “I do so love the small plates idea. Get to taste so many delicious things.”

Another round – one medium sized prawn, diced exotic fruit with a caper sauce – and a matching glass of wine, no more than a sip or two. Phil had lots of experience with these kinds of meals, long, drawn out affairs; Jasper loved them, but for Phil, his enjoyment depended entirely upon the conversation at the table. Parr talked of nothing but the dishes, critiquing every element; Maria engaged the Andarians who turned out to be a famous writer and her artist wife. The Bishop spoke only when directly addressed and in simple syllables. Phil wondered if the man was a member of the minority that argued the Church had precedence over royalty. The long contested view was still alive and well in pockets around the galaxy. That left Phil free to talk to the handsome man beside him, and Clint Barton was more than a pleasant companion, he was funny and irreverent.

“So, what brings you here?” Phil asked. The cheese course came, four thin rounds of an aged Jovian soft white with a smear of fig jam, along with three swallows of red wine.

“Barton’s company is bidding on our new security contract. We’re branching out into celebrity event cruises. Our theater is the biggest in the fleet; we sold out the Dazzler cruise in less than three hours,” the Captain bragged.  “We invited Mr. Barton to check out the state-of-art measures we already have in place.”

Clint snorted at that pronouncement. “State-of-art two cycles ago, maybe. You’ve got three blind spots in the cargo bay alone and the Garden Deck cameras keep fogging up.”

“Every day a new litany of problems.” The Captain smiled. “I cannot wait to see what you propose.”

“Captain, did you say Dazzler?” Messa asked. “I must say, I was a big fan back in the day.”

“Is popular music your tastes, Jasper?” Clint asked.

“I’m more of a jazz man,” Phil answered.  Next was a fowl liver pate with an essence of ghost chili this time; one bite set Phil’s mouth aflame but a soothing rose water sorbet cleansed his palate.

“Excellent, the combination of heat and ice exercise the taste buds. So satisfying,” Parr opined loudly.

“A nice medium rare steak is satisfying,” Clint murmured to Phil. “Or a big bowl of pasta.”

“It takes a certain sophisticated taste to appreciate exquisite work like this. It’s an art, really.” Parr’s voice was almost a sneer.  “Isn’t that right, Sirrah Sitwell?”

“There is something to be said for hardy, rustic food,” Phil replied. “I enjoy a bowl of noodles now and again.”

“Of course. Rough cooking is all the rage. You are right,” Parr acquiesced with a nod.

A vegetarian plate with a spoon that held a heap of crispy fried sprouts and bean puree was next, followed quickly by a raw fish course and another palette cleanser. An crisp white wine, then desert, and by the time the second desert course came, a gel flavored rectangle with an edible flower, Phil was ignoring the rest of the table despite Parr’s attempts to draw him into discussions about the food. Clint had taken to biting his lip when Phil decimated Parr’s pompous pronouncements, hiding his laughter, and Phil had learned that Clint haled from a backwater planet in neutral space, liked to read classic frontier spacer novels, and was single. When the digestif was served, a very old port made in a monastery in the mountains of Prolux, Phil was thinking of ways to keep talking and looking at those blue-grey eyes as they all moved in to the observation deck. The nebula came into view as the ship changed its altitude to the perfect angle to frame the blue and pink clouds that looked like spun candy swirling up from the darkness.

“Did you know that there are those who believe we came from a planet on the other side of the universe?” Clint asked, stopping before the large plexiwall.

“Through a wormhole in space, yes, I’ve heard that. There’s no basis in fact but it makes a good bedtime story.” Phil had actually studied the origins of humans in the quadrant and some of the heroes of olden times.

“Fleeing a destructive evil despot consumed with death? The survivors risking all to hurl themselves far away? That’s a damn good origin story,” Clint countered. “You’ve got to admit that’s epic.”

People rarely challenged Phil outside the small circle of cousins, not wanting to gainsay the heir to the throne. One of the problems with his grandfather’s reign had been not enough honest voices of dissent, just yes men and brown nosers who never said no. Phil liked having philosophical discussions, but hated being catered to.

“I’m fond of the universe as a living tree idea,” Phil said. “We are just one of many branches.”

“Is that the one where there are elves and gods and monsters?” Clint turned and leaned back on the railing, looking at Phil instead of the amazing vista. “With the … squirrel? … that climbs the trunk?”

“You know your creation tales.” Phil saw Clint lean his way and smile.  “It’s an awe-inspiring sight, no matter what story we tell, is it not?”

“Yes.” Clint’s eyes flickered down so fast Phil was sure he’d made it up. “Yes it is.”

He felt the heat bloom up his neck and was glad the lighting was low in the room to make the view the primary focus. With next to no practice at flirting, Phil had no idea if he was misreading friendly gestures. And even if Clint was showing interest, it was in Jasper, not Phil.

“The bar is open,” Maria said, “and the music is starting.” She raised an eyebrow at Phil as good as a verbal reminder of who he was.

“Lady Hill,” Clint said, offering her his arm. “May I escort you in?”

“I’m immune to charm ,” she warned him.

“That’s just throwing down the gauntlet, you know.” Clint winked at Phil over his shoulder as they made their way into the big ballroom.

“Oh, she knows,” Phil told him, sharing a look with Steve. “And, trust me, she really is immune.”

They had a reserved table in the VIP area, a corner bench where Steve could see the bar, the entrances and most of the dance floor. Phil noticed the other two guards moving into the growing numbers of passengers. Drinks appeared, Jasper’s favorite type of martini for Phil and champagne for Maria; it was Maria who invited Clint to sit with them, waving a waiter over to get Clint a dark whiskey. Steve frowned; Maria gave him a smug smile as the music struck up.

“Do you dance, Mr. Barton?” she asked.

“Indeed I do, Lady Hill,” Clint offered her his hand. “Shall we?”

Phil was content to watch for the first few songs. He liked the way the bodies moved together, a chaotic flowing mass of colors that, if he squinted, became one motion. But mostly, his gaze was trapped by the way Clint turned and twisted, arms swaying, legs shifting, muscles flexing. Phil had to remember to look away occasionally or Steve, with a rueful little smile, would clear his throat and drag him back to awareness. After two drinks for courage, Phil approached the Andarians and asked them to dance; the three of them made a little triangle and Phil absolutely didn’t notice Clint’s returned gaze or feel the prickles of sensation on the back of his neck. He was an abysmal dancer, but he enjoyed the beat and the sweat and most of all the freedom the dance floor represented. Didn’t matter that a guard was on his left and Steve’s eyes never waivered. For a moment, Phil was just another man caught up in the music and the evening, rubbing elbows with strangers.

It was Maria again who took the initiative and dragged Phil over to dance with her and Clint. She could be so damn confusing at times, warning him constantly against the dangers of being revealed and then thrusting him right into Clint’s path. Not that he cared right now; Clint’s hand grazed Phil’s shoulders, and he smiled as he tilted his body towards Phil’s. The rest of the people ceased to exist, the three of them their own little world. Phil had never wanted to touch someone this much. The music slowed and time sped up, or it was visa versa, Phil couldn’t tell; he danced and danced without a thought to what came next. Maria was as loose as he’d ever seen her, and Phil wished he could encase this feeling and put it on a shelf to take down whenever he forgot that life could be this good.

“I need a drink,” Clint leaned in to say, so close his breath was warm on Phil’s ear.

With a nod, Phil agreed, following him off the floor and back to the table where they collapsed. Maria moved on to dance with the Andarians. Full glasses appeared before they thought to call the server; Phil’s leg bumped against Clint’s as he drank, and he didn’t care when their shoulders brushed.

Clint’s arm slipped along the back of the bench and he closed the distance between them. “I have to say, I’m surprised. You’re not what I would expect.”

“Not stuffy and uptight?” Phil asked. He knew the reputation the family had; years of fear and worry had made them far too fond of secrecy.

Clint laughed, a low sound that vibrated in Phil’s gut. “Yes, but I was going to say you’re interesting. Smart. Attractive.”

The last word set off little sparks of pleasure, but Phil tamped them down. Too many people were watching. It was one thing to dance and sit next to each other, but they were getting close to a line he couldn’t cross.

“Um, well, I thank you for that,” Phil said, shifting slightly away. “But you must understand. I can’t … I mean … I’m not  … “

“It’s okay,” Clint said, smile still there but not as bright. “I misread the signals. No problem. I can just …”

“No. You didn’t.” Phil stopped him with a hand on his knee, taking the risk. “The coalition government is over 30% fundamental conservatives. A member of the family can’t risk it. No matter what I might feel.”

Understanding dawned in Clint’s eyes. “We’re in public and everyone has a link to take photos of the royals.”

“Yes.” Phil plowed ahead. “Maybe you could show me the security in the garden tomorrow?”

“And talk business,” Clint agreed. “But first we dance some more.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Maybe we should …”

The explosion tore through the door from the observation deck, a blast wave hurtling across the room, tossing passengers aside. Metal splintered and shattered, debris flew about, and Phil felt hands shoving him under the table just as part of the ceiling fell right on top of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't as they seem -- as Phil is about to find out. Fighting, escapes, and some itty bitty spaces in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter were the other characters went, "hey! what about us." Maria and Steve join the POVs 'cause there's that one look Maria Hill gives Steve in the Avengers and I always thought she was checking him out. *snort* Like I need a reason to ship something.

Phil coughed, the smoke and falling debris clogging his throat. Calls for help mixed with moans of the wounded as Phil looked at the chunks of metal littered the floor. The table had protected them from the worst of the blast but a fallen structural beam blocked them in the corner. Phil tried to sit up, but a weight pressed down on him.

“Are you okay?” Clint whispered in his ear. Phil realized it was Clint’s body that covered his own, protecting him. Warm breath tickled the hairs on his neck, Clint’s knee snug along Phil’s thigh.

“Maria.” Phil turned his head and looked around the table leg. “I need to find Maria and Steve.”

He saw bodies on the floor, some moving, some still. Closest was the Parr’s bulk, a long gash down the side of his face, his eyes glassy in death. Blonde hair caught Phil’s eye; Steve was kneeling a good dozen feet away from the bar, cradling an unconscious Maria in his arms. Phil pushed back against Clint, determined to get Steve’s attention.  

“We have to move. Look.” Clint caught him around the waist and yanked him back against the bench, keeping Phil beneath him.  Phil followed Clint’s gaze upwards; a gaping hole in the ceiling revealed a slab hanging precariously by conduits and wiring. “That’s not good.”

Blue flashes caught the edges of Phil’s sight; the blasts of laser guns echoed through the space, coming closer. Hooded figures poured in the jagged opening of the far wall from the observation room. They jerked people off the floor, herding those mobile into a group. Phil saw a man’s head lifted and then heard the shot as he was executed at point blank range.

“Time’s up,” Clint said, his muscles tensing as he eased them into a crouch. “Run for the bar on my mark. Get behind it and stay down. I’ll be right behind you.”

“I can’t leave them,” Phil objected. He was not going to be that stupid royal who sat and whined during a crisis but there were protocols, safety requirements. What did he really know about Clint? Flirting and dancing were one thing when Steve was nearby, but trusting him? This whole situation could be manufactured to get him into Clint’s hands. Every possible scenario ran through his head; he’d been taught to be cynical and question everything.

“Damn it,” Clint cursed, seeing Phil’s hesitation. He knelt and popped his head up from behind the table, right into Steve’s line of sight. Steve saw Clint’s hand motion, a quick jerk up and down; he took in the situation from the ceiling to the fallen beam and replied in kind, eyes sliding to the bar before he gave a sign in return. The tiny movements had been drilled into Phil since before he could talk. Go, stay, meet, run, the language of the King’s guard. Steve was telling them to get behind the bar and fall back to one of the designated meeting places. Not just go, but go now and go fast.

“Okay,” Phil said, making the decision. “Say when.”

The intruders fanned out, heading their way. Phil took a deep breath and waited, never taking his gaze off of his path. Clint put a hand on his shoulder, holding him until the fewest eyes were turned their way.

“Now,” Clint breathed and Phil sprinted the distance to the open side of the bar, staying as low as possible, using the beam and upturned chairs to hide his flight. He slipped under the plank that let people behind the long length, leaving room for Clint.  Hunkering down underneath the taps, a stray blast caught one of the plexi tubes above the mirror, showering neon blue particles down around them. Phil ducked his head and covered his eyes just as Clint pressed against him with a huff of breath.

“Okay. We bought some time, but we can’t stay here either. We’ve got maybe ten minutes before they sweep the entire room.” Clint tilted his head and Phil realized he was looking in the mirror, watching the action unfold.  “They’re looking for someone. Taking those who can move as hostages, but check the others first. Damn it.” He surveyed where they were, the small area between the bar and the back wall. “There’s a cargo lift somewhere. Let’s find it. Stay on the right. When I tap twice, stop. Once is go.”

Clint’s calm was impressive; all of Phil’s training couldn’t completely prepare him. Training wasn’t real, no matter how much you pretended. Right now, there were people dying and the only thing protecting him was some sheets of wood and Clint Barton. He could damn well not freeze up. With a deep breath, he turned and began a fast crawl, his mind racing with thoughts, worry for Maria and Steve, hopes that Jasper and the others were okay, wonder about how they were going to get out of this, and most of all just what the hell was happening.  Clint bumped him a few times when Phil slowed to avoid broken glass or scooted around spills, and Phil tried not to remember that he had his ass in Clint’s face.

Two bartenders huddled near one of the big metal sinks, a spikey haired man and a girl with green braids. “Where’s the lift?” Clint asked. The male’s eyes widened then he pointed to a large cabinet door tucked underneath the wall of multi-colored bottles. “Can you run it from the inside?”

“You need a keycard,” he answered, rousing himself to search his pockets and produce the small piece of plastic. “But there’s a button on the inside. Safety measures.”

“Okay, listen to me. When it comes back up, get the two of you in it and get the hell out of here, understand?” Clint grabbed the card and had the door opened before the bartender could do more than nod his head. “In you go.” Clint gave Phil a quick swat on his butt and a grin.

“We’re not going fit,” Phil protested. Designed to bring up cases of alcohol from a storage room, the lift was wider than it was high, but there was no way this was going to work. One person, sure. But two?

“Necessity, invention,” Clint assured him. “Slide in butt first and tuck your knees to your chin.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen. If you cooperate, you may survive this,” a mechanical voice announced over the loud speaker.  A translator program at work. “Stand up with your hands raised and do not resist.”

Run now. That was what Steve had said. So Phil wedged himself into the small space, exhaling as his back hit flush against the metal and his arms hugged his knees in tight. Then Clint was beside him, body squeezing into the same space, whole side against Phil’s from shoulder to hip. The door closed, shutting them in the interior, dark all but a small panel near Phil’s left ear. Every little twitch was telegraphed from body to body, no way to hide the slight tremor Phil felt when the latch clicked.

“It’s okay,” Clint mumbled as he reached across Phil and waved the key in front of the reader. His lips brushed Phil’s cheek, breath flowing along Phil’s cheek. The lift jerked and started its descent, creaking and groaning metal, jostling them together. Phil’s elbow dug into Clint’s midsection. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

Phil shook his head then realized Clint couldn’t see him. “No. But I might be after this.”

A chuckle sounded in his ear; Clint’s hand landed on Phil’s wrist, a warm reminder that they were alive. Fingers rubbed little soothing circles. “Not exactly a glamorous way to travel, I’ll give you that. But it’s better than a bullet to the head.”

The lift shook as it passed a floor. Phil focused on his breathing, turning shallow gasps into deep inhales; Barton smelled of sweat and cedar and something else, a hint of musk.

“How do we know they’re not in the cargo area?”  Phil asked as much to give his mouth something to do as to hear the answer. He didn’t want to start blurting out what was going through his head or the rather embarrassing fact that his cock was responding to the close quarters.

“We don’t, but odds are securing hostages is their primary goal right now, threatening the innocents to keep the crew and staff under control. They’ll have already hit security, probably through one of the auxiliary control units. First mistake companies make is thinking they can field their own police force; contracting out with specialty services is always better in the long run,” Clint said. His voice was soothing, giving Phil a distraction from the lurches and jolts. “Once they have the passengers settled, they’ll systematically search the whole ship for their quarry, starting with the most likely locations. I estimate we have maybe twenty minutes before they’re in complete charge,” Clint said.

“You think they’re after us.” There was no dancing around that fact. Phil was one of the highest value target in the whole galaxy. Even a Diplomatic Envoy was a kidnapping boon; any member of the royal family could be ransomed.  “They were wearing Spartaxian uniforms, but they’re not part of the elite guard,” Phil said. He’d caught a good glimpse of the familiar red vests before he darted behind the bar.

“They’re using late model PS-47s and they needed a translator,” Clint agreed. He hadn’t moved his hand, curling his fingers around Phil’s skin. “Doesn’t bode well. Lots of groups would be happy for war to break out with Spartax; best hope is that they are after money. The voice was disguised; that’s a good sign for the survivors. They want them to point fingers at the Empire.” The lift ground to a halt with a series of bumps before it settled. The door opened from Clint’s side; he cracked it and peered out. “Stay here until I give you the okay.” And then he was gone, tumbling out with the grace of a gymnast. Phil waited, barely breathing, until the door slid the rest of the way open. “Looks clear,” Clint said, offering a hand. When Phil was out, Clint swiped the keycard on the external controls then tossed it back in before the door shut, sending the lift back up.

The room was a maze of boxes of alcohol of all types, carefully stacked, stored and catalogued. They wound their way to the outer door, Clint grabbing a couple bottles from open crates on his way, passing two over to Phil. “Better than no weapon at all,” Clint said with a shrug. The corridor was empty, the boarding alarm blaring along the industrial area, clearly a place passengers weren’t expected to be with its plain walls. Clint waved them to the left but Phil put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. He tapped his arm piece, and the sensor screen appeared. The thing only had a very short radius, but it was better than blundering around corners blindly. Clint grinned when he saw the 3d display. “Stark makes the best toys. My scanner’s a bulky thing or I’d carry it on me.”

“… not come here … repeat … do not come … primary comprom …” Phil’s link flared to life, Steve’s voice breathy, cutting in and out. “Secondary not … falling back … if you can hear me … wolf is taken … authorize … mega …”

Phil froze. The wolf was his code name, a reference to their family crest. If the wolf was taken … they’d gotten Jasper. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Hey,” Clint grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Stay with me. We’re going to get out of this. I promise.”

“The wolf,” Phil started. “They’re at the cabin. The wolf is taken.” A cold settled in his bones.

“Taken. Not dead.” Clint caught Phil’s elbow and got him moving again. “That means this is a kidnapping.”

“Oh God,” Phil couldn’t stop thinking about it. “I have to  ... you don’t understand.”

“I understand, okay?” Clint cut through the thoughts that were rolling in Phil’s head. “Here’s what I know. We have to get you off the ship. Forget fall back plans and rendezvous. The first priority is that you are safely out of their reach.”

“Maria and Steve. We have to meet up with them.” Phil couldn’t leave them to their fate. Especially Maria. Not after the last time.

“Damn it,” Clint began to argue but running feet sounded from the next juncture; two crew members dashed across the corridor, fleeing from the laser bolts that followed them.

Clint slammed Phil back against the wall before he scooted to the corner. Three hooded men came into view; Clint waited until they were past him before he attacked, cracking a bottle over the closest one’s head and taking his gun. With a spinning kick, he took down a second one before they even realized he was there. The third turned and Clint grappled with him, forcing the gun up where it fired into the ceiling.

Inching forward, Phil glanced around the corner and saw two more coming; Clint, his back turned as he fought to subdue the other, was an easy target. Phil didn’t think before he acted; he dropped and rolled, catching the gun lying on the floor. Coming to a kneeling position, he targeted and fired, hitting each one with deadly accuracy.

“Okay,” Clint said, coming up next to him. “Funny, attractive and competent. I like that in a man.”

Phil wanted to laugh, but his hands were shaking. Clint put his hand around Phil’s and helped him lower the gun. “I’ve never … in practice runs, they get up.”

“Yeah, look, you can have a crisis of conscience once we’re safe. Right now, if they’re wearing a hood, shoot them. We’ve got to go.” Clint led them down a series of service hallways and through another large storage room.  

“Maria and Steve.” Phil insisted. “Docking Bay 17. That’s the meeting place. There’s a ship there we can take.”

“That’s right through the middle of the passenger section,” Clint shot back. “We’ve got maybe seven minutes left before they take over the bridge and auxiliary controls; they’re already looking for royal shuttles and probably know where it is by now. Rogers is smart; he’s already figured that out.”

“Captain Rogers.” The voice in Phil’s link was heavily accented and definitely masculine. He yanked the tech off his ear and put it on speaker so Clint could hear. “I know you’re out there, Rogers. I have the wolf, and I’m giving you … eight minutes to bring Lady Hill to the bridge. If you don’t, I’m going to start killing hostages, beginning with the two surviving King’s Guards. She won’t be hurt, Captain. I can promise you that. She is worth much more alive than dead. Once I have the complete set, we will depart and these nice people can all go free. You know of Spartaxian honor, Captain. You have my word.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Steve replied with steely determination. “If you hurt him …”

“Of course not. The heir is important to us; we merely wish to put a counterproposal on the table. Had your King invited us to the talks, this all could have been avoided. Seven minutes and 28 seconds, Captain.”

The line went dead. Clint snatched the link, yanked out the power cell and flung the two parts in separate directions. “My ship. Now,” he ordered, hustling Phil in front of him. “They can trace that damn thing if they have the right equipment which, once they break the encoding on the mainframe of the ship, they’ll have. Any other locators?”

“The comm …” Phil wrestled it off his wrist; Clint took it and dumped into a swinging basket as they passed through luggage storage. He hit the on button and watched as it spun away and up into the ceiling, heading for some other place in the ship.

“Internal? Sub-dermal?” Clint stopped long enough to key in a code and then they were in a small bay filled with ship to shore shuttles in various states of disrepair.

“Yes. But they broadcast on a secure frequency,” Phil told him.

“Everything is hackable. You sure every single person with access to your location is who they say they are?” Clint led them to a small ship and opened the back ramp with a swipe of his hand.

Phil balked. If he left this ship with this man, Phil was jumping off the deep end and trusting a complete stranger. Everything he’d ever been told warned against it; he should fight to find Steve and Maria, trust in his guard.

“Phil. How long are they going to keep your cousin alive once they have you?” Clint asked.

The world dropped away from Phil as he registered the words. “You know. You knew all along. Who are you?”

“The man sent here to protect you. I work for Nick Fury. Now get your ass in this ship and let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

 

Maria opened her eyes then wished she hadn’t. Her head throbbed and the world was topsy turvey as she bounced along, a very nice ass right in front of her face. The muscles tensed and shifted as the man moved at a quick jog. She’d know those glutes anywhere, but why Steve Rogers was carrying her like a sack over his shoulder was fuzzy. She’d been dancing, half watching Phil try to flirt with that handsome man, then she remembered gun fire and screams and the floor far below.

“What’s going on?” She tried to say, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. She braced herself with a hand on Rogers’ hip and smacked him right on one of the firm curves to get his attention. “Put me down.”

“Sorry. When we get to the bay, I will, but we need to move fast right now and your ankle isn’t going to take your weight. Two minutes, tops,” Steve said and Maria could imagine the shit eating grin on the man’s face at her predicament. Ass up in the air, right by his face, one of his big hands where her ass curved into her thigh, holding her tight. Oh, he was enjoying her humiliation.

“What’s happening?” She could ignore the blood rushing to her head, pretend it was all because she was half upside down, not because her breasts were slipping free of the silk of her gown and her nipples rubbing across Steve’s broad back, fabric of his jacket making them harden.

“We’re getting off this ship,” Steve answered picking up his pace.

“I got that much,” she groused, sure that Steve was humoring her. She was sick of being pushed aside, the assumption that because she wasn’t heir she wouldn’t understand. “I would like an update.”

Steve paused at a doorway, not answering until they were inside and the door shut firmly behind them. “In case it escaped your notice, we are escaping here. You can satisfy your curiosity later.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she said as he slid her down, easing her onto her own feet in front of a small maintenance pod. Her ankle hurt, pains shooting up her leg, but she kept her mouth shut and didn’t complain. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me the plan.”

Steve looked at her, cheeks bright red, then his hands twitched the fabric of her bodice back in place without his eyes leaving her face. “You’re right. As it stands, we have maybe three minutes before they take control of the whole ship. And no,” he said, cutting off her question before she could open her mouth. “I don’t know who they are. Yet. So, we’re going to get in this drone, and I’m going to get you to safety.”

“What about the others? Where’s … Jasper?” A deep sense of foreboding hit her. If Steve was with her … she reached for her link to call Jasper or Phil, but both it and her comm unit were gone.

Instead of answering, Steve opened the door; inside was one pilot seat and not much space for anything else but controls of the robotic arms. Steve slid in and leaned back out to catch her around her waist, lifting her like she weighed nothing.

“No way are we both going to fit in here.” She didn’t like tiny spaces, not one bit. Her heart rate sped up and she gulped some air. “Steve …”

He fit her back to his front, arms curving around her to hit the controls and start the engine. “Turn your head to the right and lay it on my shoulder; I need a line of sight. Close your eyes. It will help.”

She had to wiggle down, her dress riding up, the material slithering about as she settled between his open legs. Ignoring his strong arms around her was as impossible as not feeling the way his muscles moved as he tapped on the screens and fired the thrusters.

“Damn,” he muttered, glaring at the console. “I was sure these things were automated.”

“This one is offline,” she told him. “See?” She pointed to a line code. “Here.” She shifted and typed a quick command. The drone lifted up off the floor and the bay door opened as instructions scrolled by. “Now we’ll be just another bot working on containing any leaks.”

“Thanks,” he said gruffly. She laid her head back and let him steer into the blackness of space, skimming along the side of the cruise ship. Other drones were already deployed; even in the middle of the danger, the integrity of the hull was vital. Every big ship had a fleet of these bots for outside work; the second the explosion occurred, the computer would start sending instructions.

Too close. Everything was too close. Instead of dwelling on it, Maria closed her eyes and focused on the body behind her, syncing her breathing to his. That might be a mistake; now she could sense the tension, the way Steve held himself stiff, moving the joystick awkwardly to avoid touching her more than necessary.

“Look outside,” Steve said quietly. He’d locked them onto a strut near the wing, half-hidden on the under belly of the ship.

She opened her eyes and turned her head. Beyond the glass, the vastness of space expanded; framed in the center was the wash of color of the Nebula, like an artist’s interpretation of the birth of the cosmos. With a long sigh, she relaxed, the pressure in her chest easing.

“You’re going to be fine,” Steve promised. His fingers brushed along the skin of her forearm, a light touch of comfort. “As soon as they leave, I’ll get you out of this thing.”

Somehow, Steve knew. She’d never told anyone just how much it had affected her, that long twelve hours in a tiny metal box. She couldn’t afford to be damaged, not when she relied upon the largesse of relatives to live. Phil might be a friend, but Maria knew she was the expendable one. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“Who are they?” she asked. There was work to be done, a plan to make. That’s what Maria was good at.

“Not Spartaxian, even though they want us to believe it. They have Jasper; that’s the first thing they did, before the bomb.” Steve’s frustration was evident in his voice.

“Phil?” Maria’s heart sank at the thought of Jasper captive. “Tell me he’s safe.”

“I don’t know, damn it.” Steve clenched his fists. “Barton got him out of the room, but I don’t know anything else. I can’t risk accessing the trackers on any vulnerable systems. They knew Phil was on board, but they think Jasper is the heir.”

“They’ll kill him the second they know he’s not.” Maria’s blood ran cold at the thought. “And Phil’s missing? We have to find him.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I failed them both. I had to make a choice.”

She hadn’t meant to blame Steve. He’d move heaven and earth to protect them all. “You saved me?”

“The explosion knocked you unconscious and you were in the line of fire. Phil was behind a table, protected, with Barton.” Steve sounded upset; Maria knew his first duty was to the heir. “I made the decision to trust Barton and get you out.”

“I liked Barton too,” Maria said. She cautiously laid her hands on Steve’s thighs.

“I know him,” Steve admitted. “He’s ex-military. We’ve done business with his company.”

“Team Delta comes highly recommended,” Maria said, not sure why she was seeking to comfort him. Logic dictated that he should have left her where she lay. He’d risked his career when he’d carried her out of that room. “I’m glad you did what you did or I’d be a prisoner right now … or worse.”

He sighed and then Maria felt him begin to tense and release his muscles, a trick she’d been taught to endure long periods of sitting. So many meetings and official appearance where she needed to stay alert and yet not move. The discipline helped calm nerves as well when combined with breathing exercises; she practiced meditation daily just in case the time ever came where she needed it again. That, and she was much more flexible.

So she began by inhaling from her toes all the way to the top of her head then back out, three long breaths that way. Then her ankles for three, then from her knees. She eyed the vista of space, occasionally glancing down to the instruction screen; by the time she inhaled from her hips to her head, Steve had synced with her, his own chest expanding at the same time. His hands left the controls and lightly settled over hers. The pod grew warmer, or her skin heated, or maybe she was thinking too much about the way his thigh muscles flexed and his hips cradled hers, how he stirred, half-hard length snug along her ass.

“There.” He nodded. “Their ship.”

“That’s Supreme Galaxy Class, three, no four iterations out-of-date. They got it wrong; Jason of Spartax is very particular about the specific shade of red.” Maria watched the ship, intuitively knowing Jasper was on board.  

“Now we get back inside and call in the cavalry,” Steve said.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper finds himself trapped, Phil finds out more about what's going on, and Maria just might believe she's worth saving after all.

The skin on the inside of his wrist was itching but he wasn’t supposed to scratch it for some reason. The tingling of little pinpricks of pain dragged him out of the darkness; he opened his eyes, blinked, and kept his arms where they were despite the urge to run his nails over the burning skin. Pale indirect light filtered in through the grate in the door and the air vents along the wall. The cold seeped into his body; he rolled over and pressed the sore spot against the metal floor, a numbing wave deadening the burn.

“Oh my God,” Jasper moaned, squinting without his glasses, his vision more distorted than usual. The whole side of his face throbbed, swollen and tender. “What did I drink last night?”

“It’s the tranq, I imagine. I can still feel the effects.”

She was sitting up against the far wall, one foot on the floor, knee bent, the other leg straight. Her long black hair was messy, part crooked and ends tangled. One elbow balanced on her knee as she held her head in her hand.

“Melinda?” He made the mistake of trying to push up; the room spun like he was in zero gravity, and he decided he liked lying down just fine, thank you very much. “Oh. Oh.”

He remembered, disjointed images floating up through the haze. The seconds of warning, the guards and staff buying him time to inject himself with the mods, too high a dose at once, but he had to take the chance so his skin would lighten and his eyes change fast enough. The dead bodies in the living room and armed men dragging him down the hall. Fighting them so they’d hit him, knowing the bruises and blood would further hide his features. Listening as they sedated him, praying they didn’t find Phil, and hearing Steve’s voice over the comms before he faded away.

“Do you know what day it is?” Melinda May asked. Phil’s intended bride. Oh, this just got better and better. “I think they took me a lunar cycle ago, but I’m missing some time.”

“It was evening, after dinner, of the first full day of the trip.” Did she know? Of course she did. She and Phil were friends, had known each other for years. That’s part of why they’d both agreed to the proposal. Most royals didn’t even have that when they made an arranged match. “They killed two guards taking me, but Maria got away. Rogers was with her. She’d gone to dinner and then dancing.”

Always calm, Melinda tilted her head and looked as Jasper. They’d hardly spoken, the two of them, despite their paths crossing multiple times. When Phil had trained with the Legion, Jasper had been studying at the university. One eyebrow raise was all she had to do to let Jasper know she understood the situation.

“Good.” She rolled her neck, stretching the muscles. Perfect, that’s what she was. Smooth skin, dark eyes, a body honed by years of disciplined practice. Jasper tried to stay in shape; he loved food, spent most of his time reading and keeping up with the changing political scene, but he worked out with a mixture of fighting and weight training. Because you never knew when you might need to run like hell or crawl through an auxiliary tunnel or pretend to be your cousin. But Melinda was … well, she was a work of art, the kind of woman that poets wrote sonnets about with a body an artist would die to paint. He’d had a bit of a crush on her for years. From afar. And she scared him just a bit.

“Spartax accommodations have gotten worse since the last time I was on one of their ships.” He closed his eyes and tried again; once he was upright, he waited for the spinning to stop which, thankfully it did relatively quickly. “I seem to remember the décor being more blood red and lots of pillows.”

“King Jason is a bit of a prick about it,” Melinda agreed. “When the Galaxy Games were held there, he made them replace the banners three times to get it right.”

Message sent and received. This Jasper was good at, talking around a subject without mentioning it. “I guess this means the planning sessions are off. Too bad. I was looking forward to a nice long round of transmeditation in the temple. And some dashi noodles.”

With a clank, the door slid aside and two armed men entered, hoods on their heads. Behind them came another, a woman wearing keva plate, mismatched pieces that bore no markings. Her hair was green and white striped, pulled back in braids of different sizes. No hood on her head meant trouble. 

“You will send a message,” she ordered, slight trace of accent in her perfect Plebian. “Read it as it is written. If you do this, we will provide food and water.”

“We will not cooperate,” Melinda declared. Such a strong voice and will of steel. “You may do your worst.”

“Do not tempt me,” the woman spat. “You’ve pushed too far already. Don’t think I won’t break you if I must.”

“You can try. You will fail.” From Melinda it was a statement of fact, not a boast. “I will not lend my image to your cause. Jason of Spartax can kiss my ass.”

With two steps, the woman was across the room; she hauled back and kicked Melinda in her stomach. “Think not that you are not expendable, my lady. I care not whether you live or die.”

Like a flash, Melinda was on her, a blur of black fabric and whipping hair. She flowed from one move to the next, smooth sweeps cascading into rapid blows. Jasper rolled up, ready to follow Melinda’s lead, but their jailor whipped out a small black box and jammed it into Melinda’s arm. With a jerk, Melinda fell back, body covered by a dancing blue light.

“Eldar bitch,” the woman said, holding the weapon against Melinda’s bare skin. “We’ll see who pays for your treachery. I hope I get to be there.”

“Stop it.” Jasper took a step towards them. “Stop hurting her and I’ll say whatever you want.”

“Don’t,” Melinda gasped, curled in on herself. “You can’t.”

“I can and I will,” Jasper replied. The look Melinda sent him was cold and judging. “But only if you promise not to hurt her.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” She inclined her head. “The King will be much more receptive, I’m sure.”

A knife of fear cut through Jasper. Oh God, they thought he was the heir – and the second they found out he was a nobody, he’d be dead. Maybe Melinda too if they needed Phil for their plans. He squared his shoulders and spared only a sympathetic glance at the woman on the ground.

“You’d do well to remember where those who cross my father end up,” Jasper said in his best deadly calm Phil voice. “There’s plenty of room in the Fridge for all of you.”

“We shall see,” the woman said. “We shall see.”

* * *

 

“The Nick Fury? The spymaster Nick Fury?” Phil asked for the third time. “Where are we going? Am I your prisoner?”

Clint sighed and swung around in the pilot’s seat, putting the vista of hyperspace in the viewport behind him. He knew he shouldn’t use Phil’s name, even just in his head, but Clint was having a hard time separating the funny guy with a great body and mad dancing skills from the uptight royal heir Clint thought he’d be meeting. The flirting hadn’t been on the agenda but he’d been unable to help himself.

“You’re not a prisoner. As soon as we get to the safe house, I’ll establish a secure connection and you can talk to Fury himself.” Clint tossed up the quadrant map. “We’re heading for Marwipo, four clicks from here.”

“That’s in Spartax space, a good place to hide.” Phil nodded in understanding. He was smart – and a damn good shot. He’d saved Clint’s life back on the cruise ship. Most royals Clint had met wouldn’t have put themselves in danger much less calmly grab a gun and shoot two attackers. “I need to contact my people, tell them what happened. There are protocols …”

“Yeah, no. Not going to happen.” Clint saw Phil square his shoulders and get ready to argue. “They knew you were on that ship. You, not an envoy as everyone else thought. How many people knew of your plans, Phil?”

“Maria. Jasper. Steve. My father. My majordomo. The other guards and staff didn’t know until after we left.” Phil thought about it. “You think someone leaked the plans?”

“Honestly?” Clint decided to lay all the cards on the table. “I think it’s beyond belief that the King gave his blessing to this hare-brained adventure. My money’s on someone talking you into this, probably a suggestion to take this last chance to enjoy yourself before the wedding.”

“How do you know …” Phil shook his head. “Fury really does know everything. Next you’ll tell me that there really is a Black Widow.”

Clint let one edge of his lip turn upward; his partner, Natasha, enjoyed her quasi-mythical status. “Fury’s got his fingers in a lot of pies; he heard a rumor and intercepted some messages. He’s good at adding the pieces together.”

“Why would Fury care about me? The stories I’ve heard say he’s only out for himself.” Something was there in Phil’s voice, an echo of self-doubt. Clint had heard the same thing on the cruise ship; Phil was the opposite of the arrogance Clint expected.

“Jason of Spartax has ambitions of a bigger empire and Nick’s not a big fan.” That was barely scratching the surface of Fury’s hatred for that self-centered bastard. “We’ve been tracking a couple splinter groups that are looking to make a splash; the anarchist network has been chattering about something big for a couple days. And the idea of chaos makes Nick’s skin crawl.”

“Sounds like an interesting man,” Phil said then fell silent. Clint left him alone with his thoughts for a few minutes, checking the auto-pilot and the cloaking system.

“Someone engineered this whole thing. If we know who, we can follow the trail to the others,” Clint nudged.

“It doesn’t make any sense, though. How would he benefit from a kidnapping?” Phil puzzled out loud. “What purpose? Nothing without a reason, that’s what he always says.”

Clint waited it out; whatever realization Phil was having, he needed to work his way through it.

“He hates Jason. With a burning passion; lost his son in the last invasion.” Phil kept talking. “But he talked to father, encouraged him to let me go ahead and deal with the negotiations myself. A feint, that’s what he called it. Tell everyone we were sending a negotiating team and that I remained at the Palace, preparing; by the time anyone figured it out, I’d be safely at the Temple.”

“Would probably have worked if he hadn’t been planning to separate you for an easy extraction,” Clint very sensibly agreed. “You’d have meet someone nice, had a fling and then stepped up to your responsibilities and gotten married.”

“But why would he want to stop that? The union will bring stability to both empires and stymie Jason.” Phil shook his head.

“Maybe it’s not about stopping the wedding,” Clint suggested. He needed this final piece of the puzzle, the name. He leaned forward in his chair and put a hand on Phil’s knee. “Who was it, Phil?”

“Lord Pierce.”

Clint closed his eyes. The worst possible answer; Nick was friends with Alexander, even working with him at times. If Pierce was part of this, then it went much deeper than Clint wanted to imagine.

“My father’s closest advisor, most trusted ally.” Phil’s voice was no more than a whisper. “Why?”

“We’ve had suspicions that there’s a new player on the board, a force working inside existing power structures. Quietly building influence, waiting. If it’s Pierce at the center … we’re in serious trouble.” Clint stood, a charge of adrenaline running through his body.

“A group hiding in plain sight? What do they want?” Phil asked.

“Don’t know.” Not for sure, but Clint had some ideas. Pierce was above reproach, the perfect combination of battle tested leader, willing to do what needed to be done, and diplomatic negotiator, finding common ground before it came to fighting. A heavy hitter in Phil’s government, he had connections throughout the galaxy. If he was the head, then he had tentacles in almost every pie.

“But you have a theory.” Phil caught his arm, stopped Clint as he was pacing back and forth. “Damn it, tell me what you think.”

“What do you know of HYDRA?” Clint asked.

“A terrorist group in the Great War, humans who tried to create a strength serum so we could rival the Skrull and the Kree. Went off the rails, built weapons that sent the arms race into overdrive. Destroyed by my Grandfather and his allies.” Phil stared at him, disbelief in his eyes, his hand slipping away. “You think Alexander is HYDRA? That they’re still here, trying to … do what? If they are still around, we’d know. An operation like that would be hard to hide.”

“Not out on the fringes. There are factions within the Kree who would welcome anyone trying to bring down their enemies.” Clint really had no more than a gut feeling, but he was more sure now than he’d ever been. “HYDRA preached peace through superior firepower. If sacrifices had to be made, well, they believed taking out a potential threat with a first strike was a good strategy. Anything to take control.”

“Right. They targeted people who might stand in their way, assassinations, political coups …” Phil stopped, understanding dawning on his face. “Me? They want to get rid of me. Blame it on Jason so father would go to war with Spartax. Two birds with one stone.”

“More than that. My guess is they targeted your cousins as well. Maria strikes me as the type who’d stand by her convictions no matter what obstacle she faced,” Clint said. He squatted down and put his hands on Phil’s knees, looking him in the face.  “I believe they’ve got a hit list with all the names of those who would oppose them.”

“Gods above,” Phil breathed. “They’ll kill Jasper and Maria.”

“No, they’ll give them a chance to join up with the cause. Easier to spread their message if a royal face is attached to it.” Clint squeezed Phil’s thighs. “If they play along, they’ll buy time.  Steve was free, remember, and Maria was with him. Rogers will move heaven and earth to save Jasper.”

Phil’s eyes focused in on Clint’s face, shadows chasing across the green irises. “And what about you? Who are you really? You can just as easily be working for Pierce; makes more sense than believing Nick Fury is real.”

“You’re right. I understand you don’t trust me, can’t trust me.” Why did he have to have such a handsome face? The quiet strength, the way he handled this, stoically going on when others would be hysterical. Clint had always found that trait attractive. “I’ll have to prove it.”

For a second, Clint thought Phil was leaning into him; he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking down to Phil’s parted lips. With a nervous swallow, Phil hesitated, eyes widening, his teeth nipping along his bottom lip to bite down. What would those lips taste like, Clint wondered, followed closely by the thought that this was not the time to find out. Kissing the heir to the most powerful empire in the galaxy was a bad idea period, but Clint shouldn't take advantage of a situation like this one. He was good enough at screwing up his life on a day-to-day basis; fucking this rescue up had implications far beyond his own tiny life.

“How about we check the vids? News of the attack on the liner has to break. We can see what the spin is and maybe learn some bits of information.” Clint pulled back and stood up, turning to the console.

“If HYDRA really wants to take over, wouldn’t they go after everyone at once? If they just moved on me and failed, they could be uncovered.” Phil stepped up beside Clint, watching as he tuned into the main news channels.

“Smart,” Clint said with a smile. “You’re exactly right.”

“… word yet from the Eldar Legion, but we’re expecting a statement later today from their spokesman on the attack. Again, we have breaking news of a second incursion, following close on the heels of the attack on the ship. Footage shot by a tourist shows what appears to be Spartaxian warriors engaged with Eldar Guard at the Temple on Voltas …”

The screen showed a grainy video of red coated soldiers clashing with the distinct blue grey of Eldar uniforms.

“Melinda,” Phil said. “That’s where we were to meet.”

* * *

 

“You did the right thing,” Maria said, a hand on the Stuart’s shoulder.

Phil’s Majordomo, Stuart Maxtersin, was rattled and that was an unusual sight. The slim older man always had a calm reserve.  “Lord Sitwell told me to get behind the cloak. Then guards bought him time to change his appearance.” Stuart glanced over to the bodies covered with sheets on the floor of the lounge just beyond the doorway.

“Don’t blame yourself.” Maria’s voice was calm and easy in the midst of all the death and violence. “We’re going to get them back.”

“If you could?” Steve asked the man in a soft voice.

Stuart nodded, tugged his uniform jacket and flicked away an imaginary spot of dust before he sat down; Maria stepped away and let him begin the interview. From the second they landed the maintenance bot back inside the cruise liner, Steve had been on a tear to figure out what happened; the head of security had gladly handed over power, happy to let someone else run the investigation. Steve shoved his own self-doubt down, ignoring the glaring errors he’d made, and pressed on. The time spent in the bot with Maria … Lady Hill … he also put aside; now was not the time to examine his inappropriate feelings.

So far, they knew the attackers had been fooled by Jasper’s ruse. Thinking of Phil lost and with Barton bothered Steve, but he focused his energy on the things he could control; locking down the scene and finding every bit of information. He wouldn’t let Maria out of his sight; she had shown him another side of herself, the fear and worry hiding underneath her strength.  Now he knew she appeared calm on the outside but that was an act. Inside he imagined she was railing against the inaction, yearning for a fast ship to go after Phil and Jasper. How she’d handled that small space, especially after her own kidnapping years ago, made Steve’s respect for her grow even more.

He finished up with Stuart, learning few details that only raised more questions, and sent him out of the room. One thing was bothering him – how did the attackers know Phil was here? Besides Maria, Jasper, Phil, and Steve, only five people knew he wasn’t back at the palace. What had he missed? What had slipped through?

Standing, he walked over to the window, placing his hand against the expanse of plexishield. For one moment, exhaustion overwhelmed him, and his shoulders slumped as he rested his weight forward.

A small hand touched his back, slipping up to rest on his shoulder. She was so close he could feel the heat from Maria’s body, hear the intake of breath and the long slow exhale. So many facts bouncing in his head, he searched for patterns, but he was distracted by her reflection. She’d changed into pants and a loose black shirt, sensible shoes instead of the heels, a bandage around her twisted ankle. And still she was lovely, hair loose and soft about her face, the mask gone, revealing an inner softness that Steve would never forget.

“Their tracers have gone dark,” he said. Another troubling detail. Phil had probably turned his off, but why would Jasper? The kidnappers would have to be aware of it, and the location was a very closely held secret. Knowing how to disable a tracker cut the list of possible suspects down to four – and Steve didn’t want to contemplate one of those people working against the royal family.

“Who do we trust?” Maria echoed Steve’s very sentiment, so very smart she was.

“It’s just us.” Steve turned; he made up his mind on a course of action. “We find Barton and go from there.”

She searched his face then nodded. “We start with Strike Team Delta Security. There’s a woman partner. Find her and see if she can lead us to Barton.”

“First,” he disagreed with her, “we disable the security on our links and turn off our trackers. We go off the grid. If that bothers you …”

“Don’t even suggest it, Rogers,” she shot back.  “We can’t use our transpo, too easy to find. You don’t know how to hotwire a spaceship, do you?”

“Learned lots of things in the war,” Steve answered. Her renewed energy was seeping over to him. “There was this one time I took a very lovely dancer on a quick buzz around Eterna …”

“Why, Steven Rogers.” She cocked her head and looked up at him. “Are you hiding a bad boy under that Mr. Perfect exterior?”

Something about the way her mouth curved up at the ends, the slight part between her lips, or the teasing sparkle in her eyes took Steve’s breath away like a blow to the gut, the realization that she was beautiful and the strongest damn woman he’d ever met. He didn’t think, didn’t even know he was going to do it before he turned and kissed her, not light or gentle, but a real, straight on, toe curling kiss of a man who wanted her.

“Oh,” she breathed out as he pulled away.

“I’m …” he started to say, the full import of what he’d done hitting him.

“No apologies.” Her hands on her hips, she glared up. “If you’re going to say this isn’t the right time or place, then I agree. But don’t you dare say you shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m not  ...” he tried again to explain.

“Lady Hill, Captain Rogers!” Stuart called from the next room.

The vid screen was on as they entered the lounge, a news anchor talking to the camera. “… released just seconds ago to all outlets in a wide band transmission. The image you will see may be upsetting; discretion is advised.”

The picture changed and Jasper appeared, seated in a chair, holding a tablet which displayed the GNN live news feed.

“Proof of life,” Maria murmured.

Steve tensed at the sight of the mottled bruising on Jasper’s face and the way he held himself stiffly upright. Dried blood curled down from Jasper’s nostril and the side of his mouth, swollen tissue hiding most of his distinct features. A part of Steve filed away every hurt in his list for vengeance; Jasper had fought them in order to hide his identity.

“I, Phillip Joseph Coulson, Heir and Crown Prince of the Seven Halo Imperium, am a prisoner of King Jason of Spartax and am presenting their demands for my release. First, that the Treaty of Tressel be declared null and void. Second, that all Imperial boundaries be reset to before the Binary War. Third, that the Eldar Legion renounce their claim on sector 7.2.5 effective immediately. And fourth, that the fugitive known as Star Lord be turned over to Spartaxian authorities. I humbly request that my father the King, the Royal Council, and Defense Minister Pierce do all they can to make these things happen. Please.” Jasper’s voice broke and his head dropped, taking several shaky breaths before he continued. “Please. Do as they ask. If you don’t fulfill their wishes in two full cycles, they will kill me.”

Steve stopped listening to the words as soon as he saw Jasper’s fingers twitch. Even though he was obviously in pain, Jasper shifted in his seat, blinked his eyes to clear them, even rubbed at a spot of blood on his chest. Every tiny move was a message, a type of sign language that could easily be mistaken for tremors and shaking. Steve had helped create it, simple touches that slipped right by the people holding Jasper. Beside him, Maria went still; she’d seen it as well.

Don’t trust. Not them. Stalling. Want us to agree. Will kill us. Inside help.

“Poor Jasper,” Stuart whispered.

“No,” Steve corrected him. “That’s his majesty Phil Coulson. Do you understand? Never say anything different.” The servant nodded in agreement, a steely determination settling on the man’s face. He’d been with Phil since Phil was three-years-old. “Good. Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil finds out a secret and Jasper has a plan. Plus, some sexy times.

The shipyard bustled with activity; on the edge of Spartax Empire, Marwipo was part of contested space where rules weren’t always enforced. Traders were parked on all the landing pads, goods being trundled off to the big market. A perfect place to get lost in the crowd.

Phil followed Clint as they wound their way through the throng of people, his mind still replaying the video that was on a constant loop. The battered face of his cousin haunted him, but made him proud all the same. Jasper had taken the chance to send a message, even though there was no promise the wrong person hadn’t decoded it. The very thought of Pierce being behind this, working towards the downfall of the government? That chilled Phil to his bones. The Defense Minister had his hands in every aspect of the Empire.

Deep in thought, Phil almost bumped into the three men who stepped in front of them as soon as they turned down a quieter alleyway. Decked out in mercenary uniforms, the lead man, an older human with a scar running along his jaw, bowed his head to Phil before he spoke.

“My Lord. We’ve been sent to escort you home,” he said. “Your uncle is ill and you need to come straight away.”

Hearing one of the signal phrases, Phil put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, stopping him from drawing his weapon. The guard’s eyes flickered past Phil and Clint tensed beneath Phil’s fingers. Not turning, Phil knew that more men had cut off their escape route.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Phil replied. “But my business is almost finished here; I just need another day and then I will return.”

“I’m sorry, but we have to go now.” They weren’t Imperial Guard, Phil knew that for sure now; the man dropped his hand down near his weapon, and Phil lightly squeezed Clint’s shoulder. That wasn’t the right answer; Rogers always had a secondary password that changed each time they left the palace. Whoever they were, they hadn’t been sent by Steve.  

“My colleague needs to check in first,” Phil insisted, nodding towards Clint. He put on his father’s royal voice and drew himself up to his full height. “You may follow us there and then we’ll leave.”

They conferred with quick glances at the change of their plans before the leader gave a curt nod in agreement. “Of course, my Lord. Where are we going?”

“The Temple,” Clint answered. “I just need a moment.”

A good lie, Phil thought, as the men surrounded them in military fashion, boxing Clint and Phil into the middle of their tight circle. The Temple was a place many business transactions took place; it would leave them guessing as to Clint’s true identity. As they emerged onto a busier street, Phil fell into rhythm with Clint, walking the same pace, letting Clint slide to his left. There were six of them total and Phil wondered just how they were going to get out of this. If they were Pierce’s own men, they’d been sent from the Capital with orders to return him. But what if they weren’t guards at all but mercs Pierce had hired?

The leader hesitated at the Temple gate, but ultimately went in when Phil kept walking forward. Separate them, that’s what Phil would do, let Clint go on about his business then take Phil. Unless they knew who Clint was and then they’d ...

“Your mistake,” Clint  said as they passed through the courtyard and into a quiet side portico, “was finding us. There’s only one way you knew where we were.”

Before the last syllable was out, Clint exploded into action. He reached forward, grabbed the blaster from one guard’s holster, tossed it towards Phil and then spun and kicked the man in his head. Phil stumbled sideways at the guard beside him, went with it and took the man down with his weight, carrying them both to the ground. The guard’s head hit the bricks hard, and Phil rolled away, right into another guard’s feet, bowling the man over. Somehow he kept the blaster as he came to a stop; a vicious kick to his ribs knocked the wind out of him, but he pointed and pulled the trigger. A grunt of pain and another dropped. Close enough to the wall, Phil pushed up and put his back to the brick, targeting stun blasts at any of the guards who moved. There weren’t many left; Clint elbowed the last one in the nose and punched him hard.

“Let’s go,” Clint said. Phil didn’t need to be told twice; already people were coming to investigate the commotion. They ducked down a side passageway, twisting through the halls and down stairs until they came to the kitchen area. The back door led out into a small garden with an exit into a tiny alley. Trusting that Clint knew where he was going, Phil followed every turn. Finally, they came to a red door next to garbage bins; Clint tapped four times in a pattern. An older Andarian opened it, eyes widening at Clint’s appearance, and let them into a storeroom. Crates and boxes were stacked neatly; along one wall was a table with an advanced tech set up. Looking around, Phil saw a stool and promptly sank down; he stayed in shape but running for his life made him breathless and shaky.

“You did well back there,” Clint said, fiddling with the link.  “The real thing’s a lot different than practice.”

“Thanks. I think.” Phil’s head was still in flight mode; he took long breaths to calm down. “How did they know? You said there was only one way.”

“That’s what I’m about to find out.” Clint tapped the address in the link and waited. “I hate it, but I’m always right about the really bad shit.”

The vid screen flickered on and a man’s face came into focus. Dark skinned, smooth head, eye patch, Phil sucked in a quick breath as he recognized him. Clint heard and arched an eyebrow at Phil before he spoke.

“God damn it, Nick, you told Pierce,” Clint complained. “He sent mercs after us.”

Nick Fury, aka Lord Marcus Johnson, winced at the news. “Fuck. I didn’t want it to be true. How many? Did they get Sitwell?”

“Six, and no because it’s not Sitwell.” Clint was angry, his words harsh and clipped. He moved to the side so Phil was visible to the camera. “I lied.”

“Shit.” Fury rubbed a hand across his forehead. “That was Sitwell on the video. This cluster fuck just gets better and better.” He sighed. “I had to give Pierce the benefit of the doubt and you know it. Man’s a friend, Clint. Was a friend. Shit.”

“Yeah, I get it. Thanks for telling him we were an easy target; he hired local. We took ‘em easily.”

“We?” Fury shot a look at Phil then glared at Clint. “Tell me you’re not letting him get in the middle of the fight. Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“Phil is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, Nick. And you’re the one who let Pierce send mercs after us to confirm a hunch,” Clint protested.

Fury’s gimlet stare fixed on Clint’s face and then he heaved a sigh. “No. Don’t do this now. Do not prove Nat right. He’s the fucking royal heir, Clint.” Wondering what Fury was talking about, Phil leaned forward and saw the blush rise up Clint’s neck.

Clint rubbed his hands on his thighs. “We’re in deep, Nick, and I know what I am and where my place is, okay?”

“Good, because I’ve got more bad news. We’ve confirmed they have Melinda May; Nat’s got an inside source who says May and the Heir ... Sitwell ... are on a ship on their way towards the Unguarded Regions. And we’ve lost Hill and the guard captain Rogers. They stowed away in a maintenance bot during the attack, came back on board, then dropped off the grid.”

Maria was with Steve. Phil closed his eyes for a second to savor that good news. And Melinda was with Jasper? That was actually good too. If anyone could escape, Jasper and Melinda together would make a good team.  She’d be the one they worried about while Jasper went unnoticed. He’d get the door open, and she’d fight their way out.

“Rogers knows,” Clint said. “He can’t trust anyone, so he went rogue. Probably be knocking on our door in a day, if I know him. Question is, what will Pierce do now that two of his targets skipped out of his trap?”

“Accelerate the plan. Damn,” Fury cursed. “At least I can anticipate his moves now that I know. Okay, get the two of you out of there. Don’t tell me where. Plausible deniability. Do a complete end run around me. I want to honestly say I have no clue.” He stopped and looked over at Phil. “And you, make sure and stay safe. Business will go to hell if we get the heir killed.”

“I trust Clint to do that, Lord Johnson.” Phil did. Trust Clint, that is. In all of this, Clint had been the one constant. “I look forward to the next State Dinner.”

“Funny. Now you think you’re a comedian,” Fury replied. “Fury out.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment then Phil broke the silence. “So Marcus Johnson is the mysterious Fury.”

“It would appear so,” Clint said

“He and Pierce are old friends.” Saying it out loud made their situation all too real. “And he told Pierce we were coming here to see if Pierce acted on it.”

“Yep,” Clint agreed.

“Fuck,” Phil said.

“If you insist,” Clint replied, all solemn voice but a wide grin on his face. “But first let’s get out of here.”

Laughter stalled the panic attack that hovered on the horizon of his brain. “Okay, I guess. Maybe we can contact Steve once we get there?”

“You have a way to get in touch with Rogers? What am I saying? Of course Steve has a back up plan for his back up plan.” Clint gave an exaggerated smile. “So we go some place safe, fuck, contact Rogers, then regroup and save the galaxy.”

“You’re joking about the sex part,” Phil asked, unsure. “Right?”

“I may lie about a lot of things, but wanting to get you naked is not one of them,” Clint replied, passed by where Phil sat and ran his fingers along Phil’s shoulder. “But we can go with it being a joke if you want it be.”

He sauntered out the door, and Phil was left seriously thinking about that very question.

* * *

 

The door opened and Jasper tensed. Since they’d dropped him back in here, guards had come in twice to ask Melinda to read a statement. Twice she’d refused and been beaten for her troubles. Twice Jasper had tried to stop them; he was sure he had a fracture in his wrist from being physically restrained with holocuffs. Six men, that’s how many it took to hold Melinda still while they kicked and punched. The first time, she’d given as good as she’d gotten until they called in reinforcements. Now they had her locked down as well, her hands behind her back. Bastards had no problem beating a restrained prisoner.

“This is your last chance,” the leader said. Jasper wanted to wipe that smug smile off the woman’s face. “If you don’t cooperate, you are of no use to us. Agree to read the statement or I’ll let the men have you.”

“No.” So sure, so calm, Melinda looked directly into the woman’s eyes. “I will not aid the enemy.”

“So be it.”

The men advanced and Jasper let his fear show, scooting forward to the end of the tether range. “You’ve tipped your hand, you know.”

The leader waved the men to stop and turned her stare his way. “Oh really?”

“If you were part of the Spartaxian army, you’d know they always ransom their political prisoners. Use us as bargaining chips to get what they want. They’d never kill someone who could bring money into the coffers. Even if the Eldar won’t pay, King Montgomery will to salvage the marriage and save face.” Jasper kept inching closer to the middle of the room.

“You think you know us?” She asked, sneering at him, the weak prince who gave in immediately. “You know nothing, your highness.”

“You’re ex-Imperial guard, washed out of special forces. You made it to Lieutenant in the military marines, but you’re stuck there because of your anger issues. That’s what drove you to sign up with whatever you’re calling yourselves, a promise of more to do and fewer rules to follow. Your directive is to get us on board, make us part of your group, infiltrate the highest levels of our governments before you take them down. If we don’t play ball, we’re expendable and Spartax gets blamed for it.” As he spoke, Jasper pulled on the tether, unspooling it from the wall, stretching the energy chain until it was strained tight. “You really shouldn’t get a tattoo if you want to keep your past secret.”

“Well, well. Not the little whiner you appear, are you?” Her smile was cold and unnerving. “Give the little prince a cookie. Nice to stop pretending, anyway. I was getting tired of this uniform. It’s too constricting.”

“Of course, you know you’re expendable too.” Jasper twisted his hands, putting tension on the tether. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melinda doing the same, curling hers up underneath her. “Soon as you hand us over, you’re dead.”

“You want to play mind games?” she asked, her face flushing with anger. “Well, you can sit there and watch.” With a nod, she gave the men the go ahead. “Have fun, boys. And be sure our princeling has a front row seat.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, the men moved to surround Melinda. She crouched, waiting; when the first one was close enough, she swept out with her feet, knocking him down then lurched up, yanking the tether as she rose. From his position, Jasper did the same, applying torque with a spin and hard jerk, overloading the circuit and shorting the flow of power. The cuffs disengaged long enough to twist his wrists free. Pain lanced up his right arm, but he lashed out at one of the men, a sharp blow of his left hand crushing his windpipe. Then it was a free-for-all; Jasper saw Melinda from the corner of his eye, and they put themselves back-to-back, kicking and punching as fast as they could. She was much better at this than he was, but he managed to take down a respectable total of two.

When it was just them standing, Melinda turned and glared at him. “Really? That was your plan? Play along?”

“It worked, didn’t it? Now we just have to get to a console and broadcast our coordinates. The fleet will be waiting,” Jasper shot back, rubbing his aching arm and hand.

“You signaled them.” She absently reached for his arm and smoothed her fingers along the throbbing wrist; the whole side of her face was bloody and swollen, and Jasper had the most ridiculous thought that they were a matching set. “I underestimated you. I apologize for that.”

Stunned, Jasper’s mouth ran away with him. “It’s okay. That’s my super power. Looking harmless. Lots of people buy into it.”

She stood on her tiptoes -- he’d never noticed how small and petite she was -- and kissed him on the cheek that wasn’t black and blue. “I won’t make that mistake again,” she said. “Now, let’s go take this ship and find the others. The others probably need some help.”

* * *

 

“You think they’ll buy it?” Phil wandered into the small one room flat. He could smell the storefront kitchen down below, stirring up dishes that took their inspiration from a multitude of different cultures. A small curtained off area with a sink, a small shower, and a toilet was the only privacy in the place. His gut turned over at the thought of being this close for the hours they’d need to wait.

“The automated flight system has saved my ass a couple times before,” Clint said, dropping his small to-go bag in the corner near the one window that was covered by a black-out drape. “The ship will stay in cloaked mode while it orbits a nearby moon until I recall it. Natasha’s laying out a fake trail for them to follow, so they’ll be chasing their tails while we stay right here.”

“That’s good. I mean, right, we’ll stay here.” Phil could kick himself; his tongue seemed far too big for his mouth and the words just wouldn’t come out right. “Until Steve and Maria get here.”

They’d stopped at a public comm center to post a message to Steve before Clint set the ship to lift off. Coded with a way to contact Clint’s ship, the message would only lead back to their false trail. Clint swore no one would know he could access his ship’s systems from here.

“Right. Hey, you hungry? I’m going to grab some dinner if you want a shower. Be right downstairs.” Clint tapped his wrist unit, and his hair turned bright purple, his skin a complimentary shade of green.  With Clint’s tech, they’d been changing their appearance as they moved through the city. Phil would be happy to get back to his normal pale skin and dark short hair for a while. His skin itched from the shifts.

“Yeah, a shower. That would be good.” There. See? He could be normal.

As soon as the door shut, Phil stripped off his vest and tossed his shirt on one of the two chairs that served as both kitchen and living room. The whole time he undressed, he berated himself for his stupidity. Why hadn’t he just assumed the whole conversation was a joke rather than bluntly ask? Then he could pretend this wasn’t awkward as hell, the fact that just thinking about Clint made Phil’s cock stir in interest. A small room, one bed, hours to kill … Phil yanked the curtain closed and stepped under the cold water, not waiting for it to heat up. Clint wouldn’t be gone long and the last thing he wanted was Clint to find him standing in the shower with a hard-on.

Thankfully, there were little bottles of shampoo and soap on the shelf; Clint had rented this fully furnished place designed for transients. Phil banged his elbows twice lathering up; the water began to warm about the time he was rinsing off.  Finishing quickly, he reached out for one of the threadbare towels on the shelf about the toilet. It barely covered his ass, tied at the waist with a lot of thigh showing, but it was something. He stepped out and pulled back the curtain, hoping to get at least his pants on before Clint came back.

“Got a bit of everything,” Clint said, coming through the door with a couple bags he sat on the rickety leaning table. “We can put what’s left in the unit to eat later.” He glanced over to where Phil had gone completely still, pants in one hand, fingers holding the towel closed with the other. “I assume hot water is too much to ask for?” he said, glancing over Phil’s naked chest covered in goosebumps.

“A little towards the end,” Phil admitted. “Um, I’ll just ..” He made a move back towards the bath area, intending to dress behind the curtain, but Clint caught the leg of the pants and tugged him back.

“For the record, I make terrible decisions all the time,” Clint admitted, reeling Phil in. “I know this is all kinds of crazy, you being all royal and everything. But I’ve never been good at resisting temptation and you, Phil Coulson, are very, very tempting. Tell me you want this and I’ll lay you out on that bed, take you apart, and put you back together again in a way you’ve never experienced.”

“I … when this is over, I’m going to fulfill my duty. My people’s safety comes first.” He had to get that out of the way.

“Understood. Can’t say I’d mind all that much knowing I was the secret lover who rocked your world.” Clint’s smile was like a drug that made all logical thoughts fly right out of Phil’s head. “No one ever has to know but us.”

“Secret lover.” Phil lost the battle the second Clint’s fingertips brushed over his hand and tossed the pants away. “That sounds like a romance novel.”

“Is that a yes or no?” Clint paused, waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” Phil closed the distance, catching Clint by the waist and going straight for his lips. He wanted  to feel and damn the consequences; Clint parted his lips and welcomed Phil, sliding his fingers along the edge of the towel, loosening it and letting it fall, not that Phil noticed. The kiss took up all his attention, demanding and sweet and damn sexy in the way that Phil had only read about but never experienced. He didn’t want it to end, the slippage of skin against skin, moist and warm, but his knees bumped the edge of the single bed frame, and he was falling backwards onto the thin mattress, laid out for Clint’s eyes to rove over, one leg on the bed, and the other bent at the knee, hanging off the side.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Clint breathed. Yanking his shirt up and off, Clint kicked off his shoes and peeled down his pants, tossing them out of the way. Skin color didn’t matter; Clint was the handsomest man Phil had ever seen. Then Phil’s eyes were drawn to Clint’s cock, full and flush, resting along his thigh, and he moaned at the sight.

“Yeah, we’re getting there. Hold on, babe. I need to take care of you first,” Clint said. A knee pressed against Phil’s cock as Clint levered himself over Phil, holding himself up by his arms so his face hovered above Phil’s. “Look at you. So lean and strong and sexy as hell. I’m going to have to taste.” He dipped his head and licked across Phil’s nipple which hardened at the touch, sending little tendrils of pleasure down to Phil’s cock. “Yeah, I’m going to have to do a lot of that.”

Phil moaned with each rasp of Clint’s tongue, each kiss, each nip of teeth until he was squirming from the prickles of need, cock hard, leaking and jerking in time to Clint’s touch. “Oh, oh. I want … please,” he managed to babble out.

“I know, babe, I know.” Clint lifted his face and blew lightly across the line of hair that trailed from Phil’s belly button downward. “I don’t have anything with me, never occurred to me we’d end up here. But there are things we can do.”

He lined up their bodies again, slotted his cock next to Phil’s, and began a slow roll of hips that rubbed them together, the most erotic slide of skin that Phil had ever felt. Dipping his head, he kissed Phil with a series of little quick nips that left Phil breathless. Too quick, Phil felt the tension ratchet up in his gut, long denied release that didn’t want to wait.

“God, did you know your eyes get greener when you’re close?” Clint kept talking as he slipped his hand between them and stroked, Phil chasing the touch with his hips, bowing up off the bed. “That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Ah.” Phil closed his eyes and shattered, breathing in the smell of Clint’s skin as he buried his nose in the crook of Clint’s neck.

“Aw, Phil, what are you doing to me?” Clint kissed Phil’s cheek then lifted up, balancing his knee on the bed and one foot on the ground, pumping his cock as he rocked his hips forward. Phil pulled himself together and curled his hand around Clint’s, helping him to his climax. With a groan, Clint came, splattering over Phil’s abdomen and chest. Heedless of the mess, Clint leaned over and gave Phil a lazy kiss.

Phil’s stomach picked that moment to growl; Clint laughed, a delightful sound that Phil wanted to hear again. “Well, I got enough for a couple meals, just in case.” He stood and walked to the table, completely comfortable in his nakedness. “I ordered one of each of the specials. No clue what they are. Wasn’t sure I wanted to ask. Smells good though.”  

“After that dinner last night, I could eat anything,” Phil said. He really just wanted to lay there and enjoy the lethargy that came with his release.

Boxes came out of the bag; Clint passed over a drink tube. Phil groaned, started to get up, but Clint handed him a carton and chopsticks. “Stay there. We’re being lazy bums and eating in bed. Don’t bother with clothes; I’ll just take them off again later.”

“I’m a mess,” Phil half complained but honestly this was the sexiest thing he’d ever done. Popping open the top, he looked inside. “Prawn snails with … smells like garlic sauce.”

“Snails?” Clint simply tugged the table closer to the bed and crawled next to Phil with his own carton. “You can have that one.”

“They’re good. Pop a shell in your mouth and suck out the meat.” He ate one, spitting the shell into the carton top.  “They’re considered a delicacy in some courts; there’s even a little fork designed to deshell them. Funny how fancy cuisine and street food are often the same ingredients, just cooked differently.”

“You’ve eaten street food,” Clint sounded skeptical, but he snagged a snail and tried it. “Not bad.”

“You’d be surprised. Lots of diplomatic cultural tours where you eat what’s put in front of you.” Phil snuck a taste of Clint’s noodles; the spice brought tears to his eyes, and he had to sip some of his drink. “Jasper, Maria and I used to make an effort to get to the marketplace and try local foods; if we couldn’t, we’d send guards to get us something to try.”

“Okay, quit making yourself so damn interesting,” Clint said, nudging Phil with his elbow. “I need food and then I’m going to jump your bones again.”

Well, his mother always said to live in the moment, and every second with Clint was worth enjoying. Even if there were people out there trying to kill them. Maybe especially now.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like attacking a problem head on. Even if that means not getting what you want. Or, as Phil discovers, watching others get what they need and knowing you're not going to be one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first couple of POV changes are quick; first time I've tried that, but I really wanted Phil and Melinda to share the scene. Hope it works for you.

“Are you sure about this?” Maria asked. Which, Phil knew, was her way of telling him that she thought his plan wasn’t the best option. She was probably right, but it was the only way that didn’t end up with them on the run and hiding from a shadowy force that could be anywhere.

“No, but we have to smoke Pierce out. Let him think we don’t know he’s involved, that we buy the story. Act the same way we would if it was a Spartaxian plot.” Phil had thought this through; ever since the message had come that Jasper and Melinda were not only safe, but had taken their captors prisoner … and wasn’t that just like both of them to make their own rescue moot … Phil had decided they’d all head back to the Capitol. Clint seemed to think that Pierce might opt to keep working behind the scenes to push for an attack on Spartax in retaliation. That would get Pierce what he wanted, instability, at less risk for himself.

Clint’s ship eased down onto the docking platform; Steve had insisted Clint come back with them, to let the King fete him as the hero of the piece. Really, the plan was for Clint to gather information; his connection to Fury/Johnson meant that Pierce would let him into his inner circle if for no other reason that to keep a close eye on him. A good idea, but, for Phil, watching Clint walk down the landing ramp with that little swagger of his hips was a challenge to his calm. Maria knew. She had taken one long look at Phil and just intuited what they’d been up to.

Severely underestimating the impact of sex with Clint, Phil kept trying to rationalize away how much he still wanted the man. In fact, his attraction was only getting stronger with each passing cycle they were together. He repeated to himself that a couple of blow jobs, no matter how flat out mind shattering, that long hours spent in semi-darkness kissing and exploring each other’s bodies, was not love. Others had flings; he knew that Jasper had a one night stand that time they were on Pelinor for the peace talks -- it had been hard to miss the sounds coming from the antechamber while Phil tried to sleep -- and that his grandfather had a long string of not-so-secret mistresses that he romanced and abandoned without hesitation. But Phil wasn’t cut that way; he took after his father who had married his mother and been perfectly content. Maybe, in a few years, Phil would appreciate the memory of his and Clint’s time together, but right now, he wanted to find a closet, drag Clint in it, and kiss him like his life depended on it.

A phalanx of guards were waiting to escort them; as the familiar uniforms closed into formation, Phil felt a shiver run down his spine, wondering if some of them were HYDRA. How many of the faces Phil knew were working against him? Had known he was heading off to what could be his death? Guards, servants, staff … for the first time, Phil realized that he was vulnerable here in his own home, the one place he’d thought the safest.

Glancing Phil’s way, Clint eased over to Phil’s left side, flanking him, a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone. And in front of him, Steve took point, covering Maria from the vantage points ahead, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed. Phil might not be the most astute when it came relationships but something was going on there and wouldn’t that be a good thing to come out of this if those two got their heads together? Enough with the pining, Jasper would say.

“Captain Rogers. Lady Hill. Your Majesty. Glad to see all of you in one piece. ” Defense Minister Alexander Pierce was the first person Phil saw as he entered the small salon. Beyond, his father stood at the far window, speaking to his close advisor, Lord Marcus Johnson. Nick Fury. Phil huffed at the sight, earning him a side-eyed glance from Maria. HYDRA leader and Spy Master Extraordinaire within feet of each other. “And this must be Mr. Barton. I can’t thank you enough for your timely intervention.”

“I was just in the right time at the right place,” Clint demured, dropping his head in a gesture of respect. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Now, son, don’t downgrade your accomplishment. It’s good to know that we have real heroes left in the galaxy, people who believe in doing what’s necessary.” Pierce smiled, and Phil felt his heart tighten as Pierce’s arm slipped around Clint, guiding him towards the King and Fury. “I’ve heard good things about your company, Delta Security.”

He knew Clint could handle himself, but, still, Phil wanted to step between them. He tamped down on his frustration and turned to where Jasper and Melinda sat. Both were bandaged and bruised; Jasper’s wrist was in a cast, his face a terrible mottled mix of black and purple and red. Melinda had an arm in a sling, neckline of her suit revealing a matching set of bruises to Jasper’s. With a pang of guilt, Phil walked to them.

“Jasper. Mel. Good gods, you both look terrible.” Maria beat him to the punch, jumping in first. “By the way, Mel, that breathing technique you taught me? Worked like a charm.”

“Well, nice to see you too,” Jasper replied. “Not like I took a beating for you or anything.” Despite his words, he was smiling, and Phil realized that he and Melinda were on the same sittee, close together even with empty seats around them. “Not even a hey, Jasper, did you really take over the kidnappers’ ship and fly it back to the capitol?”

“Fine.” Maria sat in the chair next to Jasper. “Thank you, cousin, for putting yourself on the line and taking the risk and being an absolute bad ass. I’d hug you, but it looks like that would hurt.”

“Melinda’s the one with bruised ribs. Bastards worked her over when she wouldn’t read the statement.” There was no mistaking the glow in Jasper’s eyes as he looked at the petite woman. So that complicated matters. “And she still took them down like they were first level plebs.”

From the corner of his eye, Phil saw Steve put his back to Maria, stance easy and loose, subtly shielding them from Pierce . If it was anyone but Steve and Maria, Phil would think they stood a chance, but they were their own worst enemies. Steve was going to be all noble and self-sacrificing; Maria would be more of the same with a second heaping helping of denial.

“You are well?” Melinda asked.

“Thanks to Clint,” he answered, pretending not to see the message that Maria passed to Jasper with one raised eyebrow. He couldn’t expand any further, not out here in the open. Filling in Melinda and Jasper would have to wait. “And I’d love to hear how the two of you took out twelve guards and took over a ship.”

“Fourteen,” Jasper corrected.

“Phillip.” His father was beside him, and Phil gave the requisite bow.

“Father.”

In a second, the King engulfed him in a quick hug, and Phil swallowed his surprise.

“Well, that is entirely enough excitement for the next decade or two, but I suspect it’s not over yet,” the King said. It wasn’t that his father didn’t care about Phil, it was just that he didn’t know how to show it. That had been Phil’s mother’s strength; she’d been raised to be a queen and was very good at sharing her emotions with her son. “Maria. Jasper. Initiate May. I am happy you are all safe as well.”

* * *

 

Melinda May nodded her head at the King’s sentiment; his enthusiasm for his son’s return fit with her assessment. He was a good man, if not a great King. The two were not linked; she’d known great leaders who were terrible human beings, far too many of them. At least, this King knew his weaknesses and tried to compensate for them.

Judging a book by its cover wasn’t a successful way to learn about someone, the old adage said. But, truth be told, Melinda was very adept at quickly surveying the signs and making a determination when meeting people. Years of training to be still and wait, to calm herself and think, had given her a sharp eye and intuitive sense. Take Phil for an example; the first time they’d been introduced, she’d seen the way he handled himself, the intelligence in his eyes and the softer side underneath, the compassion he tried to hide.

So she’d paid attention as they’d entered the room and saw the difference in Phil immediately. A shift in his walk, more confident steps, the quick glances at the security expert, Barton … she knew Phil preferred men, of course. They’d talked about it when this whole marriage thing was floated as a possibility; both had agreed that they would have the requisite heirs then find their pleasure elsewhere since Mel thought of Phil as a brother and friend. The way Phil held himself now, muscles more liquid, his body reacting to Barton’s in the most subtle ways, told Mel everything. Phil had let himself feel and she knew that he would fall hard and fast. But it was more than that; he’d been tested in battle, had survived, nay thrived, and she was glad of it.

Maria stepped out of Phil’s shadow as soon as they were through the doorway, fanning out to his side rather than staying behind. The ill-fitting clothes she was wearing should have engulfed her petite frame, but she held her head high and made them work for her. Mel hoped that Maria had faced her fears, gotten past that childhood trauma, the tiny space the kidnappers had locked her in as well as the cage she’d put around herself in her own mind. From the way she was looking at the Captain of the Guard, truly seeing the man and not just her own impression of him born of self-doubt and worry, Mel thought that things had changed on that front as well. Steve Rogers, from what Mel knew, was another good man, but also a great leader. Had he not taken a commission with the Royal Guard, he could have been the head of armies by now.

Then there was Barton with conflicting signals that confused her at first. His nod to Lord Pierce, the tension in his body of a trained fighter prepared to spring, the way he didn’t look at Lord Johnson but turned his face so Phil was in his peripheral view. The subtlest way he positioned himself in tandem with Captain Rogers to protect. The difference in his gaze when it settled on Lord Pierce and on Phil. Security expert, yes, but he was a spy which, combined with the presence of Lord Johnson, made the pieces click together in her head. If Nick Fury had sent Barton to protect Phil, then Fury knew about the danger inside the palace. He had to be manipulating the situation to his own ends, making sure … Lord Pierce. Of course. The perfect position of power to overthrow governments. A snake in the very bosom of the royal family. If Fury and Barton knew, then so did Rogers and Phil and Maria.

“I think we must prepare for more attacks,” the King was saying.  “We need to learn all we can about the perpetrators as we continue forward with the negotiations. I will not be intimidated by terrorists.”

“Surely the marriage must take a backseat to tracking down these villains,” Lord Johnson/Fury said. Oh, the man was a master, his mask worn so well that, had Melinda not already known who he was, she’d never have guessed. “If I understand the timing right, there are many levels of rituals and discussions to pass through before the ceremony can proceed.”

“And there’s the added security,” Lord Pierce agreed.  “One successful attempt will embolden others.”

“Will we not look weak if we postpone? This is what Spartax wanted,” the King said.  “No, we continue.”

“There’s no need to rush,” Lord Pierce suggested. “We can put out a statement that the negotiations will continue while the Heir and the Initiate Prime recover from their ordeals.”

They had forgotten that she was to be the next leader of her own people. Time to remind them of that fact.

“Gentlemen.” Melinda stood smoothly, her ribs twinging and her knee protesting the movement. “I think you have forgotten that the decision is mine to make. We have already entered into the adjudication period.”

Pierce’s eyebrows came together as he took in her words. “Technically, I believe that was to begin when the Heir arrived at the Temple.”

If she hadn’t taken an instant dislike to the Defense Minister before, she most definitely let the ice lace her voice now. “A verbal agreement is as binding as a signature. Lord Pierce.”

“She’s right,” Phil spoke up. “Maria knows the Eldar ceremonies better than I do, but a transaction is sacred and only the Initiate Prime may change the boundaries once it is begun.”

“And what do you wish to do, Initiate?” That came from Lord Johnson/Fury, stirring the pot by simply agreeing with her.

“What do you know of hand fasting?” She watched their reactions, ranging from surprise to a grudging respect.

“Is that a possibility?” Maria asked. “It would be a unique solution.”

“There is a long tradition of extended hand fasting among the Primes. It has fallen out of favor in recent times, but would be welcomed by my people,” Melinda explained. “A simple recitation and symbolic joining that the Master can perform with only two witness and the adjudication can continue.”

“Excuse me, but I don’t follow. What is hand fasting?” Jasper interrupted, standing now just behind her. How quickly she’d gotten use to his presence beside her, the quiet strength hidden only because others willfully overlooked him. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“It literally means ‘to strike a bargain and make a promise,’” Melinda explained. “You might have heard it called a temporary marriage. At the end of the time set in the contract, the couple can decide to continue or can end the union with no repercussions. Any children that are conceived during the allotted span are automatically legitimate.”

“Aah,” Maria nodded. “A trial period. Official and completely legal and little-to-no prep. As soon as the Master arrives, it can be done. Clever, Melinda. Very smart.”

She worried it was too bold a move, boxing Pierce in a corner. What she hoped was that they were buying time, letting Pierce think he had a year or more to continue his manipulations. If the union could be easily undone …

“Philip,” the King said. “Would you agree to this?”

* * *

 

Phil froze at the question, the pounding in his chest either his heart about to explode or his blood pumping too hard through his veins. He dare not look at Clint or he knew his emotions would show. Doing what he had to was not the question; if HYDRA wanted to stop this marriage, he would damn well make sure it came off. It was just, well, right now?

“Of course.” His voice didn’t shake, thankfully. “Send an escort of guards to the Temple and kindly ask the Master to join us in the Palace.”

“We can take time to clean up, put on some more formal clothes,” Maria offered. “You’ll need witnesses as well. Jasper can stand up for you, and I can serve for Melinda.”

“No, he can’t.” Melinda said, and Phil had a sudden insight into what she was about to do when she winked at him. “I’m sorry, Phil. I know we agreed we could do this but, with what’s happened, I worry about the statement that iis still playing on the vid channels. My people, unfairly or not, will view that as weakness.”

“But that …” Jasper began; Maria nudged him and glared until he subsided into silence.

“Perception is everything.” Phil felt lighter as he spoke, like a weight was lifting off of him. “Do we go public and make what will look like excuses? Talk about looking weak. But this union is of vital importance; perhaps a member of the royal family instead, someone who proved their valor aiding you in your escape can take my place?”

“Wait, what?” Jasper’s mouth fell open. “You want me to … Mel?”

“Yes. Sitwell as hero; we rever strategy and planning.” She pretended to look Jasper up and down, but Phil saw the way her eyes twinkled with humor. “Tomorrow would be acceptable for the ceremony; I would like an evening to meditate and prepare.”

“Jasper has to agree,” Phil’s father said. “It’s our way.”

“Of course.” Melinda inclined her head but she didn’t look away from Jasper. “Consent is paramount to the negotiations.”

For a second, Phil thought Jasper was going to refuse, insist he wasn’t good enough, that this wasn’t for him to decide. Then Melinda put her hand on his forearm, just above the cast, and his worry melted off his face. “I will do my duty, your Majesty.”

“Really, Jasper? Duty?” Maria nudged the man’s shoulder. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Shut up, Maria,” he shot back. “Melinda and I have to think of what’s best for our peoples, not ourselves.”

“Excellent. I’m sure, your Majesty, that there’s a room you could spare?” Melinda’s regal surety brooked no argument and, in moments, she and Jasper were being ushered out of the room, Maria following with a quick pointed glance at Phil.

Phil caught the cold calculation in Pierce’s face as the others left. No matter HYDRA’s plans, Phil couldn’t help but feel glad that Jasper and Melinda were going to have a chance to be happy. And the solution worked for the Empire, so there was that. He resolutely didn’t think about his own future; Melinda was right about being seen as weak. Let Jasper be the hero for once.

Most of all, Phil didn’t look at Clint, had steadfastly ignored him through the whole conversation. Lord Pierce was one of the more conservative members of the cabinet, and the last thing Phil wanted to do was give the man more ammunition to use. But he really didn’t want to see Clint’s reaction to the change in Phil’s plans. Phil already understood that their time together was over; to see the indifference mirrored in those blue-grey eyes would be too much.

“You’ve been through an ordeal, Prince Phillip,” Lord Pierce said, interrupting Phil’s thoughts. “Don’t worry; eventually, all will know the truth of your heroism.”

“Ordeal, indeed.” Lord Johnson/Fury stepped in. “We should let the Heir have time to rest. A strategy can be crafted later.”

“Yes.” The King put his hands on Phil’s shoulders. “Captain Rogers will see you safely to your suite. There will be time.”

It was a dismissal, no matter how kindly meant, and Phil was more than happy to oblige. The emotional ups and downs made keeping his emotions in check more difficult. Maybe in his own room he could think his way through this mess that he’d gotten himself into. He kept his eyes away from Clint and followed Steve out the doorway.

* * *

 

“Mr. Barton, I realize it has been a long few days for you, so perhaps I can offer you a drink and some dinner?” Lord Pierce’s smile was friendly and open and it made Clint’s stomach churn. Rank hypocrisy did that to him. Even now, with his carefully crafted plan falling apart around him, Pierce was still angling for an advantage, and Clint had to play along.

“I can do that, my Lord. I would like to contact my partner, assure her I’ve safely arrived, and I wouldn’t say no to some soap and water first.” Play the simple hero, the kind of man easily subverted with kind words and promises of aid. Just what Pierce would be looking for.

“Excellent. One of the guards can show you to a guest room. Marcus? You’ll join us?” Pierce asked.

Nick Fury, his face open and concerned, spoke to the King first. “Your Majesty?”

“I would have you both at dinner with myself and Phillip, Marcus. You are much better at remembering to ask all the right questions,” he replied. “This young man can join us as well. I would like to hear his version of the tale.”

As to be expected, the two lords agreed with the King’s suggestion, although Pierce couldn’t be happy about it. Clint let himself be ushered out of the room, following the guard to a very fine room by Clint’s standards, but then this was the Imperial Palace. As soon as the door was closed, he thumbed open his comm unit and called Natasha. She answered quickly.

“I’m at the Palace. Safe and sound. Going to have dinner with the King, if you can believe.” They’d worked together so long that they could speak volumes in the shortest sentences. Still it was good to hear her voice and see her face on the screen.

“Oh, Lord, don’t cause an incident. Remember which fork is which, okay?” She fell into character perfectly, the more sophisticated partner to Clint’s good old boy.

“I won’t embarrass you or the company, I promise.” As he spoke, Clint casually strolled the room, the remote program scanning for listening devices and cameras. Nat’s movements on the screen told him where they were located. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Do you have everything covered? That cruise line bid is due soon.”

“You still want to go ahead with it after all this?” Translation: Natasha wasn’t sure how much further Clint needed to be involved in this situation. “I can take over the proposal if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll see it through,” he assured her. She narrowed her eyes and did that look-right-through-him thing she did. Damn it. She’d know that Clint was becoming way too attached to Phil and give him grief about it. “Kind of have the inside view now, if you know what I mean.”

“Inside view.” She pinned him with those green eyes, searching for something. Then her face softened. “Alright. I’ll price out the various options and get it ready to go. Have fun wining and dining with royalty while it lasts. Then get your butt back to work.”

Interesting. Natasha had no compunction against laying Clint’s ears back when she wanted to, but she didn’t mention the Phil debacle. Why Clint had to go and fall for someone so out of his reach … well, that was something only he would do. Good gods, Clint could still feel the phantom brush of Phil’s fingers, the puff of his breath against Clint’s skin. It wasn’t enough that Clint had given in and spent cycles worshipping every inch of Phil; no, Clint had to want more, had to think about what he could never have. Then, when Clint had realized what was happening, that Phil was no longer going to be married, his traitorous heart had jumped at the chance, completely ignoring the gulf that still existed between them. And all that without knowing if Phil even wanted anything more from him. Phil had, after all, been distant since they’d landed.

The door chime buzzed; Clint opened it and found Steve standing with a suit over his arm. “Maria sent this for you. She wasn’t sure if you had formalwear, and they dress for dinner.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t even own something this fancy.” Clint took the offered garment; Steve made no move to come inside. From his bearing, Clint understood that their conversation was under surveillance. “Please convey my thanks to her.”

“She will be in attendance this evening as well.” Steve smiled. “You will be glad to know that the royal chefs believe in normal portion sizes.”

“Oh good. Any chance of getting a steak? I’ve been craving one.” Clint laughed and he felt better. If Maria was there, Steve would be as well. Between Fury and Steve and Maria and Phil, he might just survive this meal.

* * *

 

Jasper kissed his way down the long line of Melinda’s neck, bending over and carefully avoiding putting weight on her. “Have you ever been to Golau Coch? I spent six months there on a trade mission, negotiating open routes with the Hamaeth.”

She turned those fabulously dark eyes on him, haze of arousal creeping in. “You want to talk about that now? We don’t usually talk during meditation.”

Chuckling into the vee of her collarbone, Jasper’s tongue licked into the dip there. “They are followers of the ancient tantric practice of joint enlightenment. First rule of negotiation is to learn about the people, what they value, their strengths and their weaknesses.”

“Joint enlightenment?” Her voice was breathy as she started to push up on her elbows. Gently, Jasper put his hands on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

“The doctor said no exertion. You’re just going to have let me do all the work.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and got a half-smile as his reward.

“I’m Initiate Prime, remember? I just faced down three of the most powerful men in the galaxy so you could be here in my bed.” Such fierce beauty and yet Jasper was starting to see what the calm facade was hiding. Funny, passionate, and smart, Melinda was nothing like what Jasper had expected and so much more than he deserved.

“So, here’s how I see it going.” Dragging his thumbs along the curves of her breast, he circled, closer and closer to the sensitive aureole, her nipple puckering in anticipation. “I will be the quintessential Prince Regent. No official power, happy to stand in your shadow while you make all the decisions. I’ll pick a couple of pet projects -- restoring the family farm, encouraging sustainability -- but I’ll be just a figurehead, a bully pulpit to bring focus on your agenda.” The pads of his thumbs brushed across the hard nubs and she gasped.

“So everyone will underestimate you when the time comes that I need you to take charge.” The respect in her voice was as heady as the sensual sounds she made as he moved down and parted her legs.

“But when it’s just us? Then it’s my job to take care of you. Make sure you don’t push yourself too far, that you have time to decompress and rest.” One finger slipped between the folds of her flesh, already slick and engorged, rubbing little figure eights, cataloguing each jump and groan. “Too much stress and tension isn’t good for you.”

“And here I thought …” She broke off with a deep groan as he pressed into a spot at the top of her clitoris. “Oh, yes, that’s it …” Sucking in a breath, she continued. “... you were going to be easy to manage and now I know you’ve been in control this whole time.”

“Turns you on, doesn’t it? To think of someone else taking charge?” He was rolling her clit between his thumb and forefinger, and she was biting her lip to keep in her cries of pleasure. “I completely understand. We’ll take turns.” He bent his head over her and flicked his tongue across one nipple just as he pinched, a little harder, testing how she liked it. Her eyes flew  open and she groaned; she definitely liked it.

“You are a revelation, Jasper Sitwell,” she moaned. “I am going to … enjoy … our joint … enlightenment.”

He grazed his teeth along the curve of breast, kept the pressure on his fingers and looked up at her through half-closed eyes. “Shall we begin?”

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria plays matchmaker and the hand fasting ceremony begins.

“This will all blow over.” Lord Pierce swirled his wine before sipping it. “We’ll play up the information gleaned from the prisoners; the Spartaxian non-answer will grab the focus of the news cycle. For once, those vultures will work for us.”

Phil bit back a sigh; that was the fourth time Pierce had obliquely mentioned Jasper’s statement. Now that Phil knew what to look for, he could see the way Pierce was trying to manipulate him. A good strategy in the past, remind Phil of his failings, but tonight it wasn’t working. Tonight, Phil was aware of Clint sitting just across the table, in Jasper’s usual seat, and Phil wasn’t the same man who’d suffered through an interminable number of these formal dinners in the past.

The servers brought the next course, a dish on china so thin  the tablecloth’s ornate pattern showed through the pale bone circle. Three black snails, grouped in the middle, an interwoven circle, drops of a green sauce spiraled out to mimic the shells. He looked across the table and caught Clint’s quick glance and brief smile. Using the little fork was far more difficult than popping it into his mouth, and good God, the only reason he didn’t blush all the way to the roots of his air was because he was sitting right under a air duct and hIs father preferred rooms on the cold side.

“Actually, reading the statement was the right course of action,” Clint said. He licked a bit of the garlicky sauce off his fork as if to torment Phil.

“You think so?” Lord Johnson/Fury asked, seemingly incredulous. Phil was seeing the way Fury had been playing the game all along as well.

“Protection details were my company’s first foray into the business, Lord Johnson. There are many places in the galaxy where kidnapping is lucrative; they target anyone who has the money to pay or can be used to make a point. I’d say a good portion of the people watching that video know someone who’s had to pay out. It’s a dangerous world out there; the public will identify with the situation.” Clint shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyone we guard gets basic training in how to handle themselves. Go along, don’t be a hero, buy time for us to find you. We teach them how to set up their own signals; even something as simple as when you say “I love you” or “Please help” or even inverting word order. Nothing that will get you killed, but might help keep you alive.”

“Fascinating,” Lord Pierce said, his attention fully on Clint. “No wonder your business is doing so well.”

“We’re trying to extend the guard further, but there is such resistance in the outer bands,” the King said. “Of course, there’s such a long history behind their mistrust; it will take more than just a few police posts and PR to change it, I’m afraid.”

“True,” Maria agreed. “But Clint has a good point. We could bring out experts to talk about safety, turn it into a campaign. Phil doesn’t have a cause yet; this would make a good one. And I can help. We’ll get someone like Daisy Johnson of SHN or that Quartermaine guy over at The Empire. They’re fair and would give a sympathetic interview.”

“You’d be willing to do that?” Phil was surprised; Maria had never spoken to him about her earlier kidnapping much less told the tale in public.

“It’s time.” She glanced around the table, almost challenging someone to disagree. “Do they ever take children, Clint?”

“Yes. Kids, unfortunately, are easily controlled.” Clint was good, Phil had to admit. His realistic view would make him an ideal candidate for Pierce to use. “Thing is, the kids get returned alive more often; it’s a transaction. Political captives are much more likely to be killed even if there’s a pay out.”

“It’s a good idea,” Phil interjected when he saw his Father warming up for a discussion about the antecedents of the most dominant factions, one of his favorite topics.”Father? Shall we proceed?”

“Yes. Education is always a good way to begin. But we need to do so much more …” As much as Phil tried, the King had a one track mind and launched into a his favorite theory. Used to the long lectures that repeated the same information, Phil was glad to see the soup course give way to slivered slices of medium rare steak on a pilaf with green sprouts.

“Ah,” Phil forked up a piece. “Little tiny bites might be all the vogue, but there’s nothing wrong a well cooked steak.”

“Amen,” Clint agreed as he closed his eyes and swallowed.

The hardest part of the evening wasn’t all the questions Pierce and Johnson peppered him with or even walking the tightrope of not giving away the game. No, Clint Barton was the problem; light conversation, witty remarks, enticing eyes, muscular arms … all of them brought back memories of the last meal they’d shared together. The dessert course finally came but they couldn’t leave until the King did and he was wound up about the Abolitionism Referendum and the change in party structures.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty.” Lord Pierce was the only one who could cut into the King’s monologue. A long friendship that, now, Phil knew to be a sham. Had Pierce ever been the good man he appeared to be? “I believe Lady Hill is exhausted from her ordeal.”

“Oh, yes,” the King said, interrupting himself. “Maria, dear, you should say something. All of you, off to bed. There will be time to tomorrow.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Maria replied, scooting back in her chair. Clint stood and pulled it the rest of the way out so she could rise. “I am tired.”

Phil joined them, trying not to scurry away from the table. The thought of his own bed with its crisp clean sheets sounding very appealing. With Steve leading, Clint fell into his place beside Phil and it just felt right to Phil to have him there, if just for the short walk to where Clint branched off to the guest wing with a second guard.

“Good night,” Clint said to Maria, with a little bow and a kiss on her hand.

“Stop it,” she replied. “Immune.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Clint replied. He turned to Phil and inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”  

“Mr. Barton.” There could be no touching, not out here in the hall with guards and people passing by. Truly, even the look that passed between them could get Phil in trouble.

Maria sighed as Clint walked off, a mournful sound of someone who understood. “Well, I for one am ready for a good night in my own bed. Captain Rogers? Lead on.”

“Drop me off first,” Phil told Steve. If he wasn’t going to get a happily ever after like Jasper and Melinda, maybe he could work on Maria and Steve. When he got to his door and saw the double guard standing watch, Phil stepped closer to the Captain. “Keep her safe,” he told him.

Stuart greeted Phil as he entered his suite -- so big, he realized, seeing it through new eyes, the salon with its settees and couches, and the office with his desk filled to overflowing through an open archway. The expansive king size bed in the next room, so completely different from the tiny cot he and Clint had shared.

The small device Clint had given him worked its magic; a next generation scanner, it found two new bugs beyond the Palace security, one in the salon and the other in the office. The dampening field made video surveillance impossible for anything but the main cameras (and thank gods there were no retrofitting done in the bathrooms or bedrooms. Phil’s grandfather had valued his privacy for his trysts) so the bugs were sound only, probably placed by Pierce’s men once he found out they had all survived.

“Do you want to have a hot bath before bed, your Highness?” Stuart asked, bustling into the bedroom and turning down the covers. “I know you already showered, but a nice long soak might ensure a good night’s sleep.”

“Not tonight, I think,” Phil replied. He passed into the bedroom, shedding his formal dining jacket as he did, thinking of how good Clint had looked in his own and how much he’d like to strip it off of Clint, a long slow disrobing of piece by piece until he was naked in Phil’s bed. “Just going to engage the privacy shield and sleep as long as I can in my own bed.”

* * *

“You don’t have to double-check everything.” Maria watched Steve prowl around her suite, looking in every nook and cranny, using Clint’s little hand held scanner instead of the Imperial issued one. He’d found two new bugs but had left them in place.  He even checked the doorway to the servant’s passageway beside the fireplace despite the fact the external locks were all in place.

“Can’t hurt to be thorough,” Steve replied, stopping at the security panel. “Do you want me to engage the privacy screen before I leave?”

“I’m perfectly capable …” she stopped, took a breath, and recalibrated. “Thank you. Yes.”

He smiled as he changed the settings “You should be safe tonight. I’ve put extra guards at your door. Here. This is an internal jammer, will stop even an internal attempt to bypass privacy mode.”

“Is that an illegal device, Steve Rogers? You been trading on the black market?” She took the small box and turned it over in her hand.  

“We trust no one,” Steve replied. “Those have to be Pierce trying to see what we know. I’ll put my faith in a Stark jammer right now over trusting whoever’s watching the camera feeds in the Palace”

“Agreed.” She suddenly felt awkward, aware of Steve’s size, his body standing so close to her. “Did you take care of the other thing I asked?”

“Yes, despite my own misgivings. I don’t like meddling in people’s affairs. I can barely manage my own,” Steve said. “We could be making thing worse.”

“It’s not like he’ll do it on his own even though he wants to,” Maria replied. “It will be fine.”

“Speaking of being fine …” Steve started and Maria knew exactly where he was headed with that train of thought.

“No. We’re not going to be those people who act all strange and awkward.” She had to stand on her tiptoes and reach for his face to pull him down towards her. A quick brush of her lips, that was what she intended, but the moment her mouth touched his, it was like a rush of air from her lungs and she was enveloped in his strong arms, almost lifting from her feet. She wanted to sink into that comforting embrace and never let go, trust Steve to take care of her, give her what she needed.

“I’m on duty.” Steve stepped back, his eyes dark blue with arousal. “And I have to finish my rounds.”

“Of course.” She could taste him in her mouth; she wiped her thumb across her bottom lip and his eyes traced the movement.

“Right.” Steve didn’t movie.

“Indeed.” Maria bit her lip to keep from asking him to stay. “When do you …”

“Too dangerous. Too many eyes,” Steve finished.

“Yes,” Maria agreed. “But that won’t always be true.”

* * *

Clint swung the door open and a little chime sounded. The device Maria had given him worked like a key to the various locks in these tiny hallways. He’d heard stories, of course, about the ways to sneak around this vast complex, part of which had been built over six generations ago. Each new King added his own stamp, a myriad of floors and rooms, cataloguing the changes in architectural styles as the massive structure grew. The Royal rooms were in a relatively new part of the building, if Clint wanted to count a century as recent.

“Clint?” Phil sat up, sheets pooling down around his hips. HIs chest was bare, and Clint’s mouth went dry at the sight. “What are you doing here?”

Surprise, clear in those green depths, and Clint understood what had happened. “I guess you didn’t send a message via Maria for me to visit?”

A moment of confusion, then Phil chuckled and closed his eyes briefly. “Maria. Well, I guess I deserve it after I played matchmaker for Jasper. Come on in. If that door’s open too long, it will register with the security office.”

“Actually, I have this handy dandy gizmo Steve gave me. A get-out-of-jail card.” Clint stepped into the room and let the door swing shut; it became a seamless part of the wall. “Easy way to break in, secret passages.”

“Jasper and I used to sneak around in them all the time when we were kids. Made for a great game of hide and seek. We’d slip into Maria’s room and camp out under her bed; we stopped after she was taken.” Phil plumped up some pillows and sat back against them. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

“Look, I don’t want to overstep my bounds here.” Clint could understand why Maria did it, but that didn’t mean Phil wanted him there.

“Shut up, Clint, and get your ass over here.” Phil patted a spot on the mattress.

“Well, now, that’s a very big bed.” He laid the master key on the bedside table and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it on a nearby chair.  “We could just pass in the night and get lost in that comforter.”

“It’s not a narrow cot, I’ll give you that.” Phil watched, his eyes tracing the curves of Clint’s muscles. “Can’t have everything.”

“Phil.” Clint’s fingers paused on the button of his pants. “Your being the heir … it has nothing to do with this …”

“I know.” Phil’s voice was warm. “But I’m not sure I care what people think. I want you, Clint. How ever I can have you.”

A heat spilled through Clint’s chest at the words. “You can have me any time.” Popping the button, he shimmied out his pants, kicking them off to the side. He could feel the weight of Phil’s gaze on him, and his cock stirred, growing harder under the scrutiny.

“Bottom drawer of the cabinet behind you. A red wooden box,” Phil directed him. Clint turned, nice and slow, giving Phil a view of the line of his ass as he drew out the box. “The rest of the collection is in a safe place where only Stuart and I can access. Wouldn’t do to let a servant find those.”

“You never cease to amaze me.” Clint sat the opened box filled with condoms and lube down on the bed . “Don’t worry, you’re not going to need anything but me.”

He had to climb on the bed and make his way to the middle where Phil was before he could straddle him. Catching his face in both of hands, Clint tilted Phil’s head up, let himself fall into those green depths, waiting long enough to sync their breathing before he dipped down and brought their lips together. His teeth rasped along Phil’s lower lip, biting lightly before he sucked it in. Hands splayed, thumbs along Phil’s jaw where the five o’clock shadow was prickly, fingers laced into Phil’s hair, Clint held him still and took his time in a series of long slow kisses, pushing aside his own arousal to focus on building Phil’s instead. He wanted to make Phil lose his mind, come completely apart, wanted him to be so far gone when Clint’s fingers breached him, spread him wide, that all he could do was beg for more. He wanted Phil to be incoherent with need as Clint sank into him, filling him up and claiming him.

“Yes, please. All of it,” Phil begged and Clint realized he’d said it all out loud, between kisses as he mapped the contours of Phil’s face.

It wasn’t a race, but Clint couldn’t go slow either. His mouth demanded and Phil’s answered. Clint lifted up on his knees, pressed Phil back into the pillows, and kissed until he was breathing in Phil instead of oxygen. The tip of his cock rubbed along the plane of Phil’s stomach and Phil’s hands curled under Clint’s ass, trying to drag him closer. Like being drugged, Clint slipped into the high that was Phil Coulson and chased down every last lick of pleasure. Covers were kicked away, sleep pants disappeared, skin slid along skin as Clint laid Phil out, parting his legs and settling between them. Flat on his back, Phil looked at him through hooded eyes filled with lust and fumbled out a small purple bottle from the box, dropping it into Clint’s hands without ever breaking their kiss.

Clint paused, taking in the sprawled mass of man in front of him, skin flushed, chest rising quickly, cock so magnificently hot and hard, leaking onto Phil’s skin. A leg bent, knee fallen open to the side. A random bruise, the tiniest scar, peaked nipples, long slim fingers twisted in the covers to keep from reaching for Clint. Huff of breath, almost like a half-moan, he lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow in question at Clint’s hesitation.

“You’re gorgeous,” tumbled out before Clint could stop it.

“I’m not,” Phil objected.

“You.” Clint poured some gel in his palm and rubbed his hands together. “Are absolutely.” One hand cupped Phil’s balls lightly and Phil’s head thunked back against the mattress. “The sexiest thing.” The other fingers drew a line down to circle the tight muscle that made Phil moan out loud this time. “I have ever seen.” He eased one finger in up to the knuckle. “And I can’t wait.” He slipped it back out then back in a little further. “To see what you look like.” Again then again until he felt the tension start to give. “When you come.” He twisted and brushed the right spot; Phil gasped, his eyes opening wide. “For me.”

“Oh, God,” Phil groaned.

Clint took his time spreading Phil wide, making him beg for more before Clint slipped a second and then a third finger inside. He waited until Phil was bucking beneath him, desperately arching up into Clint’s hands. Then he took one of the condoms and rolled it on, slathering it with lube before he slowly eased in. Every emotion was transparent on Phil’s face, and Clint felt every shudder transmitted through the warm heat that surround his cock.

Being inside Phil was … Clint couldn’t stop himself from admitting how perfect it felt. As he moved, they fell into a rhythm that left no room for doubts, the sensual drag and push driving them all away. There was just Phil, the world narrowed down to this pleasure of bodies that fit together. Not dancing, not riding, none of the usual metaphors, this was the first time Clint understood the difference between sex and making love.

“Phil,” he murmured, gone with his own coming climax. Leaning over, he rested on his elbows, wrapping his hands under Phil’s shoulders, burying his face in Phil’s neck. the change of angle drove him further with the next thrust, and Phil cried out with each hard plunge.

“Clint, I want …” Phil gasp out the words.

“Come for me, Phil. Just for me.” Clint slipped a hand between them; it only took a few strokes before Phil groaned, spilling between them. A few more snaps of his hips and Clint followed, collapsing down on top of Phil’s warm chest.

He wanted to lay there, contentment soaking into his bones, weigh Phil down as if he could keep him there. He wanted to never leave this bed, stay just the two of them, nothing else. No Fury, no HYDRA, no throne. Phil’s heart was beating against Clint’s ear as they lay tangled together.

“Do you think Melinda and Jasper are meditating too?” Phil asked.

Clint snorted then chuckled against Phil’s skin. “Advanced relaxation techniques; I’ve heard about those. You trained with the Eldar, didn’t you?”

“I did indeed.” Phil ran a hand down the curve of Clint’s back. “I can’t offer you fusion street food, but I have some very nice whiskey, some Borannian pears and, if you’re really good, I’ll share my stash of Wathler’s sea salt dark caramels.”

“Are you suggesting I wasn’t very good already? “Cause the way I remember it, that was damn fine.” With effort, Clint rolled over onto his back, sprawling out on the big surface.

“I’m not going to stroke your ego.” Phil nudged him. “Other parts, definitely. But not your ego.”

“Anytime, Phil, you are perfectly welcome to stroke what you like.”

Phil disappeared into the bathroom and Clint found himself wondering if he should be thinking of leaving. Whether it was better to cut and run now before he got in any deeper. Or if that was even possible any more. He might physically be able to walk away, but he suspected the same wouldn’t be true of his heart.

“Stay …” Phil stood in the doorway, a towel in his hand. He hesitated for the briefest second before continuing. “Stay tonight. The hand fasting ceremony isn’t until late morning; the privacy screen is on. There’s no reason to go.”

Clint was a mess in more ways than one. But he wasn’t going to say no, not when Phil asked. “You said something about whiskey and chocolate? How can I turn that down?”

* * *

Phil had long since given up figuring out why, with all the money spent on his clothing budget, his royal uniform’s collar was always stiff and itchy. Any impulse to fidget had been bred out of him by a particularly strict nanny; once Jasper stuck a pin in Phil at a formal ceremony to see if he would jump. Phil counted it as a badge of honor that he stayed completely still. Now, he glanced over at his cousin, looking resplendent in his own red uniform, and wondered at the sight of Jasper’s face, flushed with happiness, eyes glowing with joy as they never left Melinda’s face. She was beautiful in a blue robe, ornate geometric patterns embroidered along the both the back and up the sleeves as befitting her station. Long black hair was free, falling down her back, her head tilted up to return Jasper’s gaze as she repeated the of the simple ritual.

“At night, there was the feeling that we had come home, feeling no longer alone, waking in the night to find the other one there, and not gone away; all other things were unreal. We slept when we were tired and if we woke the other one woke too so one was not alone.”

The small viewing lounge was packed; far from the small ceremony they’d talked of last evening, there were a good fifty people filling the hastily erected chairs. First, the Council members had to be invited, then, if Pierce and Johnson were there, the other Ministers as well, and that ballooned into a who’s who of court which only Melinda brought to an end by choosing this small venue. Then there’d been the argument about the press; the final decision, made by Jasper, was to allow two trusted vid channels in the room. The promise of a scoop was enough to ensure they would keep their silence until after the ceremony was done.

Jasper picked up his part: “Often a man wishes to be alone and a woman wishes to be alone too and if they love each other they are jealous of that in each other, but I can truly say we never felt that. We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others. We were never lonely and never afraid when we were together.”

The spires of the city were spread out beyond the windows, the best view in the palace. The Grand Master presided with his back to the beautiful colors; Phil had to admit it made a picture perfect sight as Melinda and Jasper held hands. Half-turned away from the audience, Phil didn’t have to see Clint to know that he was seated on the second row behind Phil, tucked on the far left of the room. Another photo opportunity, just like Steve standing watch on the right; get all of them in the frame. Phil had long ago gotten used to his life being on display. Now, for some reason, the cameras were as uncomfortable as his uniform.

“As they have come to promise,” the Grand Master said, “we witness this beginning. May they hold fast in the cycles to come and work together when obstacles rise. And may the elders bless this union in this life and those yet to come.”

All eyes turned to the couple as they leaned in for a kiss, Phil included. A sharp twinge lanced in his chest, an unknown ache, as Jasper and Melinda’s lips touched. It wasn’t as if Phil was jealous; quite the contrary, he was happy for his cousin and friend. Before he could figure it out, Phil heard a shout, Clint’s voice calling his name.

“Get down! Get down!”

From the corner of his eye, Phil saw a blur of red, Steve in motion. Blue spinning as Melinda turned. People jumping up, chairs overturning.

The weight hit him, knocking the air from his lungs, and he fell backwards off the podium amid the screams.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went round and round thinking about privacy protocols and servant passageways and final just decided, screw it, Clint coming out of the secret door is sexy so I'm going to do it. ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one more decision to make and then happy endings for everyone.

That feeling was back, the one in the pit of Clint’s stomach, like a bucket of acid sloshing up over the sides, dripping out and eating through his confidence as it chewed through the soft tissue of his gut. The same feeling he’d gotten when he’d walked into that observation lounge and scanned the crowd, his eyes bumping over a face that rang bells in his head but he couldn’t place. The same feeling that grew as he sat down in his assigned chair, far to the left, out of Phil’s range of sight when he stepped up beside Melinda to be her witness. The same feeling that made his search his memory for a name to go with that swarthy beard and mustache, the dark hair, the small scar along his nose. The same feeling that exploded into full-on fear when his brain provided the answer of one Brock Rumlow, ex-military, merc-for-hire, do-anything-if-the-price-is-right, the guy Natasha ran into on that diplomatic courier job, the no-way-in-hell was he supposed to be at a function like this guy. Pure adrenaline had gotten Clint from his seat to where Phil was before Rumlow could fire the tiny disrupter that appeared in his hand, and only the aftereffects of that rush got him through the next few minutes as he took Phil down to the ground, cradling him with his own body, using his back as a shield. With no weapon, Clint could only huddle them into the smallest target and yank the Master off his feet so the priest was down as well.

Now, watching the images play out on the big screen in the council room, amid a babble of voices arguing loudly, Clint was frozen in place, nothing to say as he saw himself sit up, run his hands over Phil’s body checking for wounds, asking over and over again if Phil was okay, if he was hit. Cradling Phil’s face to be sure he was alright. Leaning close, far past the boundaries of proper space. Phil reaching out for him, calming as he caught one of Clint’s hands. No mistaking the look in Phil’s own eyes as he gazed at Clint for a split second before Steve blocked the camera’s angle, yanking Rumlow to the floor and holding him there, barking orders to the other guards.

“Confiscate all the video. We can’t have any of this getting out,” one of the council members was shouting. Clint had given up trying to figure out who was who; the room had been chaos when the two guards ushered him in with everyone else. Well, Clint wasn’t cowed by the powerful people. No, he was more worried about what Natasha was going to say. She was going to flat out kill him. “Lock down the media and issue a statement. We control the message.”

“You think two assassination attempts in three days is going to go away?” Another council member, this one a blue skinned woman, retorted. “There were press in that room; even without the video, they’ll report the news. And we look like weak imbeciles who let a killer walk right into the most secure location.”

“How the hell did the man get in anyway! I demand answers. Captain Rogers, this was your failure. Explain yourself,” a tall black man with a goatee said, angry and loud.

“As soon as I can begin my investigation, I will have all the answers you need, Lord Braden,” Steve replied, the exact same thing he’d said five times already. They’d demanded Steve’s presence and he was seething from the inaction. “I can’t do that as long as I am here.”

“And where is Pierce?” That was Fury, one of the few calm voices in the room. “Shouldn’t he be here instead of Rogers? We should let the Captain go about his work and let Alexander fill us in.”

“That’s not the point!” The Delvian member demanded, its mandibles clicking in frustration. “Why were we not consulted on the change? Hand fasting is unacceptable to my people as well as a number of the small sects. And Sitwell is not the Heir. We want this undone.”

“The change was my decision,” the King said, tired and slumped in his chair. “And the ceremony was complete. There is no changing it now.”

The Lord Minister of the Gods, head of the largest religious group in the Empire, rose from her seat and the others fell into silence. “If I may,” she began in her most patronizing tone, as if she were lecturing children. “Here’s what I think. The ill-advised statement the Heir read can be explained by duress. The hand fasting to Sitwell serves the same purpose and would have allowed the possibility of another union for the Heir. I have faith that Alexander and the stalwart captain here will get to the bottom of this dastardly plot.”

She paused, looked around dramatically, waiting until the video had cycled back around to the moment Clint saved Phil. With a wave of her hand on a nearby panel, she froze the image with Phil looking at Clint.

“This, ladies and gentlemen and others, is the problem. We all know that video, once it exists, will find a way into the public sphere. Anyone with eyes will see the truth and we all know what will happen. The Westfallians will leave the coalition. The followers of Zorvan will demand the Heir be disavowed. The rank and file of the Tistpabs already balance on a thread; the last vote to remain in the Empire was decided by less than a 1000 votes.”

Clint knew every bit of that. Knew just what would happen if the galaxy saw that video. Alexander Pierce would win without even trying, and Clint wondered if that hadn’t been the backup plan all along. Pierce had probably known about Phil, watched for signs of Phil being attracted to men. It would explain why the assassination attempt was so sloppy. A disrupter in a crowded room with only two exits, both covered by guards? Rumlow was too smart for that. No, it was all for show, to get Clint to react, for Phil to show his hand in public. God, but Pierce was smart and so fucking cruel. He’d torn the whole Empire apart by having Rumlow fail.

“By my count, at least 40% of the House will withdraw. And those are just the ones who actively denounce the homosexual lifestyle. How many people say they have no issue with perverts, but wouldn’t want one on the throne?” she finished.

The room erupted, everyone speaking at the same time.

“I will not have that word used to describe my son,” the King said, rising from his chair.

“Goddamn it, Geraldine, you want to stir up trouble?” Nick slammed his hand down on the table, losing his temper finally. “You start slinging slurs around, you’re asking for this to devolve even further.”

“And what of the non-gendered?” the Delvian asked. “Are you suggesting sexuality trumps abilities?”

“How dare you?” Maria was livid, her face red as she shoved her way right into the other woman’s space. “Phil is worth twenty times those people.”

“Narrow minded, short sighted idiots!” Lord Braden shouted. “You’d have them run this coalition? Maybe we’re better off without them.”

“Stop this. Stop it. We won’t solve anything this way,” the blue skinned woman begged. “We have to stop yelling at each other.”  

“Enough.” Phil stepped up to the end of the long table. He’d lost his jacket, and his left arm was bandaged where the disruptor blast had caught him a glancing blow. “ENOUGH.”

Something in his voice got their attention and they all fell into an uneasy silence.

“As I am the person in question here, I think I have some say in this matter.” Phil’s shoulders rose as he straightened himself; like some invisible string pulled him up, he seemed taller, more confident. “Fra Rochelle is correct in her numbers. Once my preferences are made public, the coalition will splinter and we all know that we are stretched thin as it is. We need the Tistpabs to keep the peace in the Southern region and the Zorvanians have been instrumental in opening up trade routes in the north. We can not afford to lose any of our allies.”

“The we make sure the information doesn’t get out,” Maria promised. “There are only two copies of the video. We can suppress it.”

Phil glanced at his father then at Fury then finally his eyes settled on Clint for a brief moment before he turned back to the table. “By now it should be evident that these attempts mean they are inside the very walls of the palace. How else did they get a shooter in the lounge? He was in a guard uniform. Our enemy is hidden right here in plain view.”

A buzz erupted but Phil quelled it with a look. Clint thought he’d never seen anything hotter than Phil right then.

“You all know. Anyone at that ceremony saw. I bet if we searched this room, we’ll find listening devices that aren’t authorized. The cat is out of the bag, or maybe I should say the queer is out of the closet.” Phil chuckled at his own joke and Clint wanted to step up and touch him, to let him know that he was damn brave. “The primary goal, as it always should be, is to protect the people of the Empire. To keep them safe from incursion and provide for them so they can live their lives free and in peace. As much as I disagree with the Westfallian teachings, they are part of this coalition and I am damned well not going to let me be the reason that chaos descends upon them. Or anyone, no matter what they believe.”

“Phillip.” The King came to stand by his son, but said nothing else. “It’s your choice.

With a brief nod, Phil continued. “Effective immediately, I, Phillip Joseph Coulson, hereby abdicate my position in the lineage of the royal house of Coul and relinquish all rights and responsibilities associated with the rules of primogenitor.”

“No,” Maria protested. “Don’t let them decide your life, Phil. They can’t drive you out.”

Phil smiled at her, a rueful little tug of his lips. “I freely and with a sound mind step aside, removing myself from consideration in favor of Maria Margaret Coulson Hill, first cousin and next in line for the throne.”

Her eyes widened and her face went white, but she said nothing, the shock of the act leaving her speechless.

“I wish to be clear on this point; I am still going to be a member of this family and I will not go into hiding or disappear. I will be visible in whatever role Her Majesty wishes me to play.” Phil’s attitude brooked no argument.

“There hasn’t been a Queen since Queen Margaret and she was married to Prince Gabriel,” Lord Braden said. “If the Spartaxians have infiltrated the Capitol, you stepping aside will only postpone the conflict. There will be factions calling for this to count as a declaration of war. A single woman on the throne …”

“We’re long past those old stereotypes,” the blue skinned woman said. “Lady Hill has been groomed to take the throne as well.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Felna. There are many who believe a woman needs a husband,” Fra Rochelle said. “I’m not the bad guy here, but I think I have a more realistic view of public opinion; parishioners are vocal to their ministers and priests.”

“Oh God,” Maria sank down in a chair; her struggle to take in sudden changes. “The number of suitors will be outrageous. I’ll have to beat them off with a broom, all of them jockeying for position like I’m a prize mare.”

“A military man,” the Delvian mused out loud. “Someone who brings gravitas.”

Clint marveled how quickly the subject had turned from assassination attempts to war and royal marriages. Fury, on the opposite side of the room, just raised his eyebrows as if this was normal.

“You sure you want to do this, son?” Fury asked Phil. “Maria here will be a good queen no doubt, but you’d be just as good.”

“Yes. This is the best for the Empire. I have every faith that Maria will be the person to lead us through this,” Phil said. Clint didn’t miss the pointed glance Phil threw towards Steve who had the good grace to blush. Neither did Fury, who got that look on his face, the one where he had just been handed the answer to his problems. The man did love to know everything; Clint would give Maria and Steve no more than six months before the wedding planning would be in full swing. Two down, he thought. Jasper and Melinda, safe on their way to Melinda’s home with loyal Eldar guards. Maria as Queen, and Steve, her warrior prince. Clint didn’t have that kind of luck.

“Your Majesty, My Lords, Captain Rogers.” The guard burst through the door and dropped to one knee in front of the King. Steve waited until the King motioned him forward before he spoke.

“Report,” Steve demanded.

“The assassin … he’s escaped,” the guard said in a rush. “Lord Pierce has gone after him; five soldiers are dead sir.”

A gasp ran around the room; Steve snapped a quick nod to the King and another to Maria and Phil. “I want only Elite guard on the King and the family. Barton,” Steve turned to where Clint stood in his out-of-the-way corner. “Stay with Phil. I trust you to keep him safe. This is far from over.”

Steve strode out of the room, all authority and strength. The idea already planted, Fra Rochelle and the other council members watched him go before they broke into smaller conversation groups.

“Pierce went after him.” Phil gravitated to Clint or Clint gravitated to Phil, he wasn’t sure which. “He freed Rumlow and they’re gone. Damn it. Now we’ll never know who’s part of this.”

“That would be the point,” Clint agreed and before he could stop himself he asked, “so, what are you going to do now?”

“Whatever I tell him to.” Maria joined them as the council members continued arguing, the King in the middle of the verbal sparring. “If you’re going to make me do this, I can damn well stick you with State Funeral duty … and those interminable opening ceremonies.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Phil smiled as he said it. “I live to serve.”

“Smart ass,” Maria returned. “I don’t know whether to hug you or kill you. Seriously, Phil, I know Barton is cute and all, but really?”

“I’m not … it’s not … I don’t …” Phil sputtered, his face flaming red. “I’m doing this because it’s the best …”

“For the Empire, yes, I know.” She sighed. “I can’t say I disagree. Even though I don’t want to be the prize at the auction. Thing is, now that you have a chance, are you going to take it? ‘Cause this guy? Might be worth the risk.”

Clint bit his lip to hide his smile. Flustered Phil was very appealing and knowing that the man who just stood up to the most powerful people in this part of the galaxy lost his cool over Clint? Well, that gave Clint more than a warm fuzzy feeling. It gave him hope.

“You know, with just the two of us, we really haven’t had that much time to devote to protection and kidnapping details. Maybe if the royal family would use their bully pulpit to bring it back into the news …” Clint let his emotions show. “Ship’s small, but she’s got room. And if we happen to get any news of Rumlow or Pierce …”

“Steve will be the first one to know,” Phil agreed.

**15 lunar months later; 6 days before W day**

“... fourteen bouquets for the tables in here, champagne flutes half full, not completely ..”

“Shhhhhh.” Steve murmured into her ear, his arm snug around her waist, holding her firmly against his broad chest. His lips brushed along the line of her neck, breath stirring the tendrils of hair that had escaped her chignon. “They’ll hear us.”

She bit her teeth into her lower lip to keep the moan deep in her throat as one of his big hands cradled her breast, weighing the fullness as he lightly squeezed. “Steve,” she made his name a sigh, quiet and low. The tension began to drain from her body; she relaxed her shoulders and tilted her head, baring her neck to the sweep of his tongue.

“... overflow in the grand ballroom with the vid screen active. The string quartet is for here, the larger ensemble in there …”

Music. Right. She was supposed to be meeting with the Director of the Philharmonic in an hour to discuss selections. There was some sort of argument over …”Ah.” The sound broke from her lips; the smooth silk of her shirt slithered across her nipple as Steve circled his thumb, the lace of her bra the perfect counterpoint of scratching to the smoothness of the expensive fabric and the pressure of Steve’s fingers. Like the strategist he was, Steve planned his seductions like a campaign, sometimes slow and methodical or, like now, a fast erotic attack.

“... no pink! I don’t understand why the florists insist on putting pink in despite being told not to. Contact them immediately. I want these removed before she …”

Clenching her hands, she reached back and settled them on Steve’s waist, urging him closer. He rolled his hips in answer, pressing his hard cock against her, nipping with his teeth at the sensitive skin behind her ear. That was her weak spot and he knew it; warmth pooled between her legs, and she was wet for him like always, the familiar pulse of need that only he elicited. He chuckled as if he knew … and who was she kidding, he read her so easily now … and slid both hands down until he caught the edge of her skirt and pulled it up, the flimsy silk lace of her underwear no barrier to his insistent touch.

They’d started this by accident; Maria had wanted to test herself, to see if she could handle small spaces, to change her flight response. Steve had been there to soothe her, but somehow the game had started in the very first serving closet off the ballroom and now Steve kept count of the different nooks and crannies and the ways he could drive her crazy in the tiniest of rooms. Pressing her into the wall, Steve’s fingers pushed aside the crotch of her panties and stroked her just the way she liked, light and easy, featherlike, almost a tickle instead of a touch. She shivered, turning her head so her cheek lay on the cool stone of this older part of the palace, the bolthole centuries old.

“... arrived just an hour ago. They should have been here yesterday but fighting in the Omecrom sector meant they had to detour. Security is going to be a real bear to manage …”

The voices were closer, right on the other side of the bookcase that also served as a door. Which meant nothing to Steve; he kept teasing her clit and slipped a finger inside of her, working both together until she was sure she was going to tip over the edge and cry out. Just before she did, he took the half-step back the room allowed, leaving her for a moment, then he was pushing inside of her, his thick cock filling the emptiness. They’d just stopped using condoms, so close to the wedding, and Maria reveled in the slick feel of him, the easy slide. If his tiny groan that he buried against her skin was any indication, he felt the same way, half wrung out with the pleasure of being joined. He was so big and she loved it, the way his cock hit the tangle of nerves that set off sparks throughout her body. Before she could gasp, his arm was around her, pulling her back and anchoring her, his mouth covering hers, swallowing down her sounds as he began to thrust.

“... do best to remember that,” Stuart was saying on the other side of the door. “You can still call him Captain Rogers, but his correct title will be Prince Regent. Not prince. He’s being knighted at the ceremony as well so you can also call him Sir Rogers, Prince Regent.”

Where the laughter came from, Maria didn’t know, but it bubbled up as Stuart lectured whoever was with him on proper forms of address while Steve brought her to orgasm just a few feet away. She shuddered around his cock and fingers, long tremors that clenched her muscles tight; he followed in a few thrusts, hard exhales the only sound he made as he spilled inside of her. And wouldn’t that be perfect, she managed to think as she rested against her husband-to-be, if the next heir to the throne had just been conceived here, right now.

Turned out, chuckles were harder to hide than moans.

**4 Days until W Day**

“So, regret making an honest man out of me yet?” Jasper stepped up behind Melinda and slipped his arms around her waist. His hand settled on the ever so slight curve of her abdomen. No one knew yet; only three months along, Melinda wanted to keep her pregnancy quiet.

“Every day,” she replied, tying the sash on the simple grey sheath she was wearing. “You need to get dressed for the reception; I don’t think Maria or Steve will appreciate you showing up that way.”

Nuzzling her neck, Jasper smiled at her in the mirror. “You love me naked, admit it. What did that one Master say? Right, my place was in the bedroom not the boardroom.”

“He’s a jackass and I told him that.” She turned in his loose hold, facing him. “Although knowing you’re waiting for me does get me through a lot of negotiations.”

He leaned in and kissed her, slow and thorough. “Now that’s a job I don’t mind handling. Get it? Handling?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, all skeptical, but he knew she liked his strange sense of humor. Or lack of one, as Phil would say. “Don’t even. Time to suit up; we have a meeting before the reception with the Temple Master and Lord Johnson about the new training regime we’re providing to the Palace guard. Six months without an incursion in the Palace isn’t nearly long enough.” She stepped away and patted him lightly on his bare ass.

“Steve’s got a herculean task ahead of him.” Jasper didn’t envy his friend the job of finding and rooting out HYDRA. “Every time he makes headway, more of the cells pop up.”

“Maria’s strategy to bring them out in the light is working. Slowly, but it is working.” Melinda handed him his underwear, a not too subtle hint. She didn’t do subtle. That was okay. Jasper did subtle really well.

“It will be good to see Phil. He dropped in for the wedding and then dashed back out to the fringes of the Empire. That campaign of his has done wonders opening dialogues about the scourge of kidnappings. He said that Strike Team Delta has hired three more people to help manage the explosion in business, old military buddies of Steve and Clint.” He didn’t get dressed, just leaned against the bedpost and watched Melinda brush her hair.

“He deserves to be happy,” Melinda agreed. “As do Maria and Steve.”

“Well, I, for one, plan to stay out of the way and let Maria have her moment. I’m not important here.” He didn’t really relish the hoopla surrounding a royal wedding, especially the future Queen’s. The media vultures were already circling and there was the ever present danger of HYDRA and Spartax and … so many enemies around them. And yet, here he was, happy as a clam.

“You, my love, are always important,” Melinda said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“What time do we have to be there?” He asked, catching Melinda’s wrist and tugging her towards him. “If we use the servant passageways, I bet we can shave off a good fifteen minutes.”

“I know for a fact that you are not going to be able to get it up for at least a half an hour,” she told him. “So fifteen minutes won’t make a difference.”

“True.” He closed the last of the distance by leaning in and dropping a kiss on her cheek. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have another go. I can see the tension in your shoulders. Best to face the crowds feeling very relaxed, eh?”

“You truly do enjoy it, don’t you?” She didn’t resist as he skimmed his hands along the silky material of her handmade dress. “And here I’d heard that men cared only for their own pleasure.”

“What can I say? Watching you fall apart is addicting,” he said. “There’s this new technique I read about …” He smiled up at her as he dropped to his knees, hands pushing her skirt up. “I promise I won’t wrinkle the fabric.”

**2 Days until W Day**

The hard edge of the carved wooden headboard bit into the back of Phil’s head; eyes closed, breath short and quick, chest slick with sweat, he dug his fingers into Clint’s hips, trying to urge his lover to move faster. But Clint kept his agonizingly slow pace, fucking himself on Phil’s cock in long lifts and falls that were driving him to distraction.

“Gods, Clint,” he moaned. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Squeezing his muscles, Clint laughed and pressed down when Phil tried to snap his hips up. “I promised, remember? Take you apart right here in the Palace, ride you so hard you forget everything else.”

Phil was reeling with the overload of sensation, how tight and hot Clint was, the tremors of his own orgasm just out of reach. “We’re already … running late.” He groaned, opening his eyes to look at Clint’s flushed, hard cock that was rubbing along Phil’s stomach. “I shouldn’t have let you … talk me into … oh, fuck, Clint. Harder, please.”

“Almost … there.” Clint gasped in pleasure as he got the angle right, rolling his hips in a figure eight to do it again. “Yes, Phil. That’s it. Come on.”

Growling in his throat, Phil flipped them over, slipping out of Clint for a second, then, holding Clint’s hips down on the mattress, he slammed back in and gave the frantic need full reign. Stretching his arms upwards, Clint gripped the spindles on the headboard and held on tight as their bodies met in sharp quick thrusts. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose as Phil felt the crest of the wave seconds before he came, as deep as he could be inside Clint as he pulsed and shattered. So good, his head spun with the rush of it

“Phil,” Clint moaned, bucking up for friction against his aching cock. Pulling out, Phil half-collapsed on Clint’s chest, curling his hand and jerking Clint fast and hard, just how he liked it. Phil bent his head down and sucked the tip between his lips; Clint came with a cry, hips thrusting his cock deeper into Phil’s mouth.

“Okay,” Clint said. “I give. There are advantages to a big bed.”

“No flipping in the bunk,” Phil agreed. He could sprawl; there was plenty of room. But he stayed where he was, wrapped around Clint’s body. “See? It was a good idea to come to the wedding.”

“Unhuh,” Clint mumbled in his sleepy post-coital voice. “You sure you want me to go with you tonight? I could just stay here, all nice and naked and warm for when you get back.”

“Oh, no, you aren’t getting out of it. If I have to do those touchy-feely interviews, you have to do this.” What a difference a year and a half made. Phil had been true to his word and not gone into hiding. If anything, he was even more visible now as he pushed Maria’s safety for children initiative. He’d never have believed that he would be the most vocal of them all or that he’d have someone like Clint by his side. Sure, there were always the protesters and the loud minority of dissent, but Phil wouldn’t trade a minute of his life with Clint Barton for what he had before.

“Oh, alright,” Clint groused. “If I’m going to be your boy toy this evening, I’m going to wear the grey suit though. So you’re distracted all night about with the thought of getting me out of it later.”

“Evil man.” Phil managed to move, rolling over and sitting up. “Maybe I’ll have to wear my glasses. The PR office says I get higher positive ratings from both men and women when I do.”

“That’s because you’re damn sexy in them.” Clint laced his fingers behind his head and just lay there.

“You coming?” Phil asked then winched at the easy opening for Clint’s penchant for puns.

“Actually, there’s something I want to ask you.”

Phil’s heart stuttered a beat and he froze.

“Phillip Joseph Coulson,” Clint said, “you want to not get married and spend the rest of your life doing this good thing we’ve got going?”

“Oh, thank God,” Phil flopped back down on the bed. “You had me worried there for a second.”

Clint snorted. “Come on, Phil. I know it’s legal in places, but we don’t need anyone’s permission or recognition. You and me, this is it. Just thought I’d say it outloud.”

When Phil rolled back to Clint’s side, a muscular arm wrapped around him, anchoring him exactly where he wanted to be. “Yes, Clinton Francis Barton. You and me. I can do that.”

**W Day**

It was a close tie who was the focus of the most cameras -- Maria and Steve at the altar or Phil and Clint in their seats on the same pew with the King. Melinda and Jasper were a distant third, already last year’s news, but Phil knew that was about to change when Mel’s condition was made public in a few months. With the way Steve was putting his … mind … towards another heir, Phil wouldn’t be surprised if Maria wasn’t that far behind Mel.  Without a second thought, Phil reached over and took Clint’s hand, twining their fingers together. He looked at the amazing man he’d agreed to spend the rest of his life with; Clint turned his head and a soft smile curled the edges of his mouth. Pierce was still out there, HYDRA a real threat, but Phil felt the happiest he had in … well, forever.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this unabashed romance novel. Happy endings for all the couples and some lovely futures laid out. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, Phil and Jasper look nothing alike. I know. It's literary license. Don't think about it too much. :)))
> 
> More of the other two pairings in the coming chapters.


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